Why did I ever come here.... I suppose I shouldn't bother asking that question, because not only do I know the answer, it also wouldn't do any good to ask it since I'm already here.
Obok, an unusual fellow under normal circumstances, recently dropped the stone he had been carrying and bellowed into the face of another nearby hauler that he was going to go make something. The poor hauler was petrified, and required some friends to calm him down before he stopped shaking and could get back to work.
Obok, on the other hand, has charged off down a stairwell and mumbling about something or other. I'll have to keep an eye on him.
Some time later, I caught up with the leader of this fort, who was still frowning mightily in the devotion to his work. He had shoved the mechanic out of his workshop, and had begun grabbing stones from around the area. He had just grabbed a rather sizeable chunk of basalt and placed it in the workshop when he barreled past me, out to the front gate. He ran to one of the ponds outside the gate, snatched up the carcass of a turtle, ripped the shell off it, and ran back down the stairs to his claimed work area, maintaining his peculiar silence all the way. Attempts at questioning him on his trips has led only to more silence as he ignores me and everyone else completely.
One more shell, one log (one of our last), two brown zircons and a piece of muskox leather which for some strange reason had ended up in the magma forges later, he started working. A crowd started to gather, and although I would normally have shooed them off for being unproductive, I was equally interested as to what would come of this endeavour.
After the dust had settled somewhat, Obok stopped for a moment and looked down at what he had created. A spectacularly designe mechanism, that was encrusted with diorite and brown zircon and was encircled with bands of diorite and turtle shell. It menaced with terrifying spikes of turtle shells, brown zircon, and muskox leather which had been wrapped into cones so that they would remain spiky. It also had on it an astonishing woodcarving of a dwarf being surrounded by other dwarves. Carefully, reverently, he picked it up, lifted it above his head and proclaimed "Uzliralåth!".
I feel that I must give at least some respect to Obok, if only for the incredible design of the thing, a design that one of the other dwarves must be near 60000 coins, although I doubt a peasant's knowledge of such things, and our resident appraiser would most likely not be able to give a fair estimate due to the fact that he made the damn thing.
I was about to suggest that it be put on display in one of the main public places, so that others could marvel at its masterful craftsdwarfship, but before I could bring it up he scurried back to his bedroom with it. We now hear periodic clanking noises come from back in there, but no one has yet found out what exactly it is he's doing with the thing.
On the bright side, he seems much more relaxed nowadays and is not nearly as tense as I have come to expect him to be. Even his wife, Kadol, seems to be happier as of late. That mechanism, whatever it does, must surely be a grand thing indeed.
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Topic: The Legend of "Roariron" (a succession game) O (Read 21937 times)