I write down the last few months with a trembling hand. I have seen death. All of us at Chambergrave have had a loved one die. It is a part of life that one gets used to, and the rows upon rows of coffins see that our loved ones rest easily. What I have never seen before is such drive, such maniacal disregard for life. There is no time for frivolous pursuits, no time to relax, no time to be DWARVES! We eat. We sleep. Then we work. Onkrin is everywhere of course, a man that is drives us to super-dwarven lengths, but he pushes himself always harder. I have not seen him sleep.
After his first few days of the initial planning and bulldozing any of his opposition, he sealed himself away in the mechanics workshop. He is always in the workshop, mumbling to himself.
“Power… I need more power…”
“Yess….. that will do nicely? But what will hold it together? Wild animal’s skin is too soft… it will not hold…”
“I need more workers… more meat. Are we not oil? Does a machine not run the smoothest when the oil is the best?”
These were just snatches of the conversation I heard between him and whatever mad spirit he calls his god. I have been collecting the mechanisms he produces and have been laying the groundwork for what he calls “The Hearth Room”. It is a canal that puts the majority of the mason’s workshops in a peninsula, and from what I can understand he plans on attaching water wheels to power… something. I wonder if I will be damned should I find out.
After a solid week of not seeing him, the community once again… felt… his presence.
“I NEED MORE WORKERS!” He roared, his knuckles clenched so tightly they were ugly knots of flesh and bone.
The crowd was silent, wondering who should answer. Dopefish, one of the braver dwarves, or more foolhardy, I know naught which, spoke up to him “Sir… you’ve emptied the guard. You’ve emptied the army… you’ve emptied…” he glanced over to another one of the previous overseers, Valter, who leaned against his mining pick heavily, the instrument currently being used as a crutch. Another proclamation saw that Valter was working with a broken leg. “…the sickbeds. We have no more fit dwarves for these halls.”
Onkrin’s eyes went wild. Violence and suffering seemed to emanate from his very being. Dopefish looked around worriedly, hoping for allies, but he now stood alone. Everyone was afraid that his downfall might be contagious. Suddenly, the madness was gone, and Onkrin seemed almost sane again. Dopefish continued to sweat profusely, his guard was still up.
“Then I will MAKE more fit dwarves to serve us.” With those ominous words, he set out towards the sleep halls.
The crowd followed, mute in its obedience to the unspoken command. I myself felt imperceptible iron will override my own fears and concerns for safety. Or was his madness affecting me as well?
Finally, the crowd was gathered outside the halls of Domas Cilobkoman. She was a soldier of the armor, before Onkrin disbanded them. She was injured in the same attack that killed her lover, a sword master that died protecting her. She would never walk again.
A gasp came from the crowd as we realized what Onkrin intended to do. Work her into the ground until the woman breathed her last. It was something he was capable of.
“NO!” Came a cry from the crowd. It was Valter. The crowd parted from him silently as he laboriously made his way to the front, his every step an effort. Finally, he stood in front of Onkrin, and stared him in the eye.
“You can do this to me you sick bastard, but you can’t do this to her. She’ll die.” He paused for a moment, before finally adding “I’ll take her workload you shit.”
Onkrin stared back at Valter, the duel of wills crackling through the air for all eyes to see. Suddenly, and without warning, Onkrin struck Valter in the chest, a audible crack of bones breaking rung out. Valter spun backwards, slamming into the crowd, before toppling to the floor.
Onkrin spoke slowly before the crowd, his every word a hammerstrike on hot steel “I work. You work.” He pointed to Domas behind him, but his entire being was focused on the crowd “She works. But, I do not work my people beyond what they offer. That would be…” he smiled slightly, not lifting the mood at all. “unethical”.
He finally strode over to Domas, who had been staring at him fearfully the entire time. Stretching out his hand to her, he grasped her shoulder, and hauled her up to stand beside him. She stood on her own will. Her legs held out.
“WHEN I RULE HERE! I WILL STAND! I WILL MAKE IT SO THAT EVERY DWARF STANDS! WE SHALL NOT FALL UNLESS OUR BODIES CAN NO LONGER HOLD OUR SPIRITS! We are DWARVES! We are CHAMBERGRAVE!”
I wish to say that only silence greeted this, but it did not. The dwarves, witnessing the miracle of Domas’s health, as well as this short, fiery speech, broke into cheers. His will completely dominated ours, and the crowd cheered him like a hero. The only ones silent were myself, Domas, and a seething Valter.
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Topic: The Chasm-Challenge (Read 29595 times)