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[Royal Surveyor]

Honestly, I'd skip to the last two, it's more narrative, less logbook.  Though, there is a certain pleasure in logbooks.

[Specialist290]

Yeah, I don't mind reading logbook-style.

Also, I chuckled at a few of the names

[Royal Surveyor]

I'm glad you're enjoying it, and thanks for the encouragement. 

[Royal Surveyor]

Winter, 1063
Work on engineering cave-ins proceeds, and will put some work into the grand ideas.  I observe how the land reacts, I have made a toy one.  If the results are satisfactory, work on the greater project will proceed.  If not, then another approach will be found.

The younger generation also appears to take to labor well…


   Sakzul was bored.  He watched as his mother put a seemingly endless line of stitches in an endless line of bags.  She had been uncomfortable for the last few days, Sakzul understood, though it would be time before he could that thought in real words.  He could walk and therefore be a terrible nuisance to his incessantly busy parents.
   He wondered why baba was always so busy and could never play.  At least urem played with him, and even let him shoot the crossbow once.  They even scavenged a piece of twisted metal together.  It was a little longer than his arm and had a fork on one end.  He carried his ‘sinsot’ everywhere with him.  Often, he would slap the metal against any exposed rock, pretending to be a miner, or held it like a miniature crossbow, skulking under the tables in the great hall, pretending to hunt goblins and raccoons.
   “Sakzul-stet, baba is busy right now.  Go play somewhere else, go be useful,” his mother said, never moving her eyes up from the bag.
   Quiet and not a little dejected, he wandered away, lazily letting his sinsot bounce and scrape against the gray walls.  He wandered up and down the wide central stairway, in and out of the carpenter’s shop, and then to the farms.  Something interesting must be happening somewhere.  Maybe he could find a lizard here and pretend it was a real goblin.
   His eye stopped on a door near the back of the kitchens, behind the piles of empty casks.  A group was dwarves filed in, picks and axes over their shoulders.  That, he thought, must be the way to something fun.  Or-what was it baba said?-something useful.
   He bounded, almost bounced, across the wide storage floor, passing through a cloud of something foul that made his eyes water.  It didn’t matter, for he found something interesting, and baba wasn’t here to keep him away from it.
He slipped through the door and down a sandy tunnel.  A wide dwarf was walking the other way and stopped to look down at him.
   “Wordletter!” the child blurted out, smiling and displaying a twisted piece of metal above his head.
   The large dwarf laughed and hoisted the child, smiling at him.
   “And what have you there, est Sakzul?” he asked.
   “Sinsot!” the small child said gleefully.
   “Oh.  That’s great, est.  And where are you putting sinsot to work?”
   “Baba said something use-full,” Sakzul said, stumbling on the last word.
   “Oh, well, this is the right spot!”
   The large dwarf carried him down the tunnel and through an intersection.  Through a door on the side of one of these tunnels, the large dwarf set him down and pointed to a wooden stairway.  Light poured into the room from its edges, and dirt was pouring down where the sun wasn’t shining yet.  The roof creaked against wooden braces.  It was very exciting and very busy.
   “Want to put sinsot to good work, est?” the adult said.
   Sakzul nodded.
   “Then you can take down that stairway.  Think you can do it?”
   Sakzul nodded once more, a smile spreading seemingly from ear-to-ear across his hairless face.
   He took to it, relishing the feeling of being ‘use-full,’ and surprised by the arrival of a baby sister.  Surely these were exciting times.


Indeed, the child Sakzul took a mere five days to destroy a wooden stairway using nothing more than a scrap of metal with a fork in it.

[JujuBubu]

There is nothing like the determination of a dwarven child

Your writing is great, I feel right at home in your fortress

So much I want to be the first to claim a dwarf.

Fikod Armorabbeys, a male milker, I choose you !

Give him an Obsidian Sword and Bone Armor, please

[Royal Surveyor]

Note:  I'll be a little sporadic in the next few weeks, as I am making a long distance move.  Rest assured, though, that I'm not abandoning this.

JujuBuBu,
Splendid, he is yours.   I am currently a couple seasons behind in the story, as I got fixated on playing a while.   Fikod is currently the low man on the totem in the glass industry-the wood burner.  Milkers appear to have it pretty rough as far as jobs go.  Obsidian sword and bone armor... check.  We've got cow bone, goblin bone, and some raccoon bone.  Have a preference?  Do you mind a silver sword for training purposes?

I'll likely make a story about him for Winter '64, unless you want put in some backstory for him or write for him exclusively, Juju.  Overall, he arrived as a milker, found that there were no purring maggots, and took up wood burning.

Here is his status as of the beginning of Autumn '63.




(for some reason, even though I uploaded at one size, PhotoBucket insists on making different sizes here)

[Royal Surveyor]

Spring, 1064
A new survey has been taken (here).

The year started off right: with a seven day break of labor.  Obok organized a new year’s party around this time, and there was excess to spare.  Seeing as we have accomplished much this year, I ordered that all jobs cease for a short while, the drawbridges brought up, and convinced Erith to order the army to stand down no guard to be on duty.

I am also quite pleased that Shorast appears to have taken quite the shine to the quiet Doren.  He seems to have gained considerable fame among the small number here, which must be something that impressed the very outgoing Shorast.

Migrants arrived, as Cerol had hinted.  I have catalogued them.
Katol Archsquid, a female weaver, woodworker, and clothier (with the funny name).
Olon Inkstirred, a male carpenter.
Cog Clashwalls, a male peasant.
Kumil Wordspear, a female metalsmith.
Goden Frillyoiled, a male potash maker (he should speed up glass manufacturing)
Kubuk Floorlulled, a male speardwarf.
Logem Shootwhirl, a female armorer.
Mafol Merchantdike, a female soaper (good luck getting a job at this point, lady).
Solon Kisschannel, a female animal dissector.
Sibrek Diamondstroked, a female pump operator.
Tulon Dyegravel, a male hammerdwarf.
Monom Claspally, a female wood burner.
Unib Bronzeblew, a male peasant.
Dodok Brimlabor, a female mason.
Fikod Inktowns, a female peasant.
Litast Tongsdusts, a female animal caretaker.

Most importantly, I have organized an otungerith company from all the miners, woodcutters, excess carpenters and metalworkers.  They number 11 in total and will be a valuable asset in the coming years.  I am considering some military training for them, as well, but at a later time.  They are: Ducim, Inod, Tobul, Rimtar, Kumil Logem, Fath the Miller, Domas, Doren the Woodcutter, Kubuk, and Dodok.

To celebrate our third year here and his ascension to Mayor, Erith has proclaimed that he shall make aluminum goblets from the one piece of aluminum we have.  I certainly hope that he does not develop a strong lust for this material, for we only have imports of it at present.

[ed: posted without checking my list of shocklabor]

[Royal Surveyor]

Summer, 1064
The otungerith experiment is working wonderfully.   The squad has cleared an area from trees and has begun digging underneath that earth…

   Domas Sinkgears brought his pick over his shoulder.  He twisted at his hips and flexed his shoulders as he brought its head against the soil in front of him, loosening it.  Another swing brought it apart and it crumbled to his feet.  He began another cut, moving forward, compressing the slippery clay underfoot.
   He never considered that he would be mining through the earth rather than swinging an axe against trees.  It was not that he was unhappy, indeed, Domas was quite happy with the change of pace.  It was that he had not anticipated the sudden onset of the change. 
   He had grown accustomed to the voice of the surveyor, a rather quite, wide dwarf with a coal-black beard, loud voice, and unconsciously imposing manner.  Domas remembered the first day after the speech calling together the miners, woodcutters, and others into a company of otungerith: the surveyor using a chain to measure out the land and setting temporary markers.  Two years of laboring on felling trees alone ended, ironically, with felling more trees.
   “Sholil!” he commanded. 
   Those accustomed to the axe went forth, dropping trees.  They laughed at the miners’ expense as they instinctively handed the blade as a pick.  Domas only teased playfully, knowing that once the surface was cleared, he would be put to work in something he had never done.
   He recalled the surprise when the surveyor ordering them to clear and haul their wood, producing it far faster than the peasants could take it away.  Once finished, they took some time to store their axes and take up their new picks.  Moving through sandy underground tunnels, the surveyor and another dwarf led the gang through a series of tunnels behind the kitchen.
   When they reached a clay floor, the surveyor spoke about how far they would have to go until, he said, they reached the channels cut from above.  This is how they would train: by digging the soft earth here rather than the stone and ore below. 
Domas hardly understood some of the terms, and realized that making a straight line underground would be difficult.  He then started when he thought about making a tunnel from one place to another that had already been dug.  Yes, he thought, he would need to learn and relished in the idea.
   “Avuz!” the surveyor called, inflecting for command rather than the name. 
A muddy mess followed quickly.  Multiple lines carved randomly by unskilled hands while those who had difficulty above teased in retaliation when they began to carve out blocks of clay with seeming ease.  Domas’ feet slipped in the clay, his body not prepared for the shock of the stopping pick, his body unaccustomed to the restricted motion.  He fell when he pulled the pick out several times, but thankfully he was out of sight from the real miners.
   Days passed and he mined on, determined to learn how to handle the pick properly, to dig efficiently.  It came to him that, in their shared humiliation, the gang was beginning to come together.  Indeed, Domas concluded in his mind, bringing the pick down once more, that this was the core of Otungerith.  He thought of how it would be when he had mastered this new skill, or these new skills maybe, causing the lingering humiliation to melt.  It was replaced with pride.
...I believe that a demonstration of a collapse and how fast things can work will be ready for Cerol when he arrives this fall.

Erith finished his goblets, and seems quite happy even though Fath Cavebeard, the peasant who faced down a living fire, has been elected the new Mayor.  She is a good dwarf, though, and will not fight against the goals I have set forth.  Indeed, she seems primarily concerned with the establishment of a stronger military.

[Specialist290]

Hmm... I want to get in on the community action. One Kubuk Floorlulled, please

Won't ask you to make too many changes, so long as he has a decent spear and armor (and a shield if possible, but isn't strictly necessary). I'd like it if he were a squad leader, but I won't be too disappointed if he isn't

[Royal Surveyor]

Summer, 1064 (cont)
There was an accident while pouring magma into the base of the first pump tower…

   Ablel bounded through the tall grass and bushes, following the partially obscured shape in front of him.  It always was there, but eluded his attempts to get closer.  The older and taller Sakzul could move faster than the younger child.
   Ablel lost sight of the taller child, and felt a chill of being alone.  He had never been to this place before.  A stone wall rose before him, towering above the grass and shrubs.  A trench next to him smoked and fumed, shedding a reddish light on everything Ablel could see.  Another trench led away from the piled stone and was empty.
   “Come get me!” the taller one suddenly said when stepping out behind the wall, tapping Ablel on the shoulder.
   He started, turning to the tap, but Sakzul had vanished behind the wall.
   Ablel smiled at the game of hide-and-seek, especially since it was in a new place.  There’d be plenty of places to hide for both of them.  He ran around to the other side of the wall and crossed a small pile of stones that bridged that hot channel.  Scaffolds led down into the earth.  Across the large scaffold, the plants had been trampled down along another wall.  A lever there had a red piece of cloth wrapped around the top. 
   Looking about, Ablel could not see the older Sakzul.  Maybe he went below already.  So he went below where he found a break in the rough wall, leading to the channel he saw from above.  It was warm and the waning sun shone down.  It would be fun, Ablel thought, to hunt for Sakzul here at night.  He turned the corner into the channel and walked to another, then turned again.  Maybe Sakzul was hiding down this way.  Going further and further, he found that the trench sank into the ground and a roof was over it, leading into a dark, damp tunnel.  Yes, in there was a perfect hiding place.  He went into it.
   Thump!
   Ablel turned back at the sound.  Seeing nothing, but becoming scared, he wandered back out of the tunnel and into the trench, turning the corners again. 
   He was confronted with glowing red liquid pouring into the trench.  He turned to run, but it feet didn’t carry him anywhere, and then he turned back.
   “Sakzul…. Sakzul?” he began to call out as the smoke began to fill the channel, but the smoke wasn’t coming from the red stuff: it was coming from him.
   His clothes smoldered on his body and he rushed forward again in an effort to get back up the scaffolds.  The heat was unbearable.  His clothing caught light and he ran, but it was too late.
   “Babaaaaa!”
 …the child Ablel was cremated alive in the filling channel bypass that will lead to the second tower.  I don’t know why he was in it or why no one noticed him going into the channel when the safety check was completed.  His parents are inconsolable, and the father, Litast, is blaming Thikut the mechanic for failing to check again.  I deem it an honest mistake: Thikut could have turned his back a moment and the child slipped by without his knowledge.  The worst is that there is an empty coffin, as the body will not be able to be recovered; his ash will become part of the foundation for the second pump tower.

[Royal Surveyor]

Presenting Kubuk Floorlulled:







Currently, he's been training an awful lot with a silver spear that Erith made for him, and is clad in nothing but steel armor, but hasn't progressed far enough to be effective in plate just yet.  I think that in the coming year, he will improve, probably enough to advance to squad leader, too.  He has not yet been involved in my notion of basic training, that is, only wrestling for a few seasons to toughen up the recruits.

As for the military generally, I've been using silver for training of the melee troops, and letting the marksdwarves take care of security.  There's some nice weaponry in the wings, though.

One last thing, any nicknames desired?


(got the photobucket thing sorted)

[Specialist290]

Character looks good No, no nicknames for my character for now, although I might think of one later (maybe after he kills something, if he ever gets the chance).

Sad what happened to Ablel

[Royal Surveyor]

Autumn, 1064
It has been a busy year since the last visit by our liaison.  This time, though, things have been more complicated.  Erith has relinquished civil control to a newly elected mayor, as is the law, and some developments occurred which, while not completely unexpected, were somewhat of a surprise.
   “It’s just that I’d like something else here,” said the wiry dwarf with brown hair.
   “I understand,” the taller dwarf at the table said, “We’ll make arrangements for you to train in the winter,” he concluded while nudging away a large and hairy dog of indeterminable breed.
   “Thank you,” the first said.
   Once he left, the three at the table looked at each other.
   “Think that’s a good idea?” asked Iton, lounging back in his chair.
   “What?  Training a new soldier?  We’re at war, we’ll need every dwarf we can put forth,” Erith responded firmly, “it’s not like we’re fully operational on the glass manufacturing anyway.  There will be plenty of time for someone else to figure out how to burn wood.  It’s not engineering.”
   “I agree,” said the third, Fath, while rubbing her neck, “we’ve certainly got a way to go until we can fend off a full fledged attack.”
   “Alright,” Iton said while still lounging, “I can abide.  I’m sure I can find a replacement.”
   They were interrupted by a guard entering the hall.
   “Nerul, Cerol Stockadetubes,” the guard announced and the stocky, light haired noble entered the hall.
   Of the three at the table, only Fath rose for the occasion.  Iton and Erith relaxed, looking up at Cerol as he walked over, took a chair, and sat down.
   “Nerul,” Iton said.
   “Cousin,” Erith said almost at the same time.
   “I hope your year has been well,” Cerol said, “and who is this beauty who graces our presence?”
   Fath rose again, giving a curt bow, “I am Fath Cavebeard, Nerul, the new mayor.”
   “It’s a pleasure, Fath,” Cerol responded with a nod, “please be seated.”
   She sat.
   “Now, what of the condition of Abironul?” Cerol asked quite seriously.
   “It’s coming along well, Cerol,” Iton responded with a flair of confidence.
   “And the repayment we discussed?”
   “More than enough,” Erith responded, “But there are a number of items.”
   “It is of no consequence, we should have the capacity.  And the shocklabor idea?”
   “Coming along well,” Iton said.
   “Very good.”
   “In fact, Nerul, we have a demonstration of what has been accomplished in the last year, but we will arrive at that before you depart,” Iton continued, moving in his seat in excitement.
   “Excellent,” Cerol responded, his smile mostly concealed by his thick, chestnut colored beard.
   “I do have some concerns,” Fath said softly.
   The others looked at her.
   “What are those?” asked Erith.
   “We have a strange structure here,” she said, twisting her well-groomed chin hair, “I am under your command in the guard, but am mayor, and Iton is more or less in control of the development of the fortress.  I’m unsure of my position in the scheme of things.”
   “This is understandable,” Cerol said before the other two could respond, “and not a situation without precedent.  When a similar situation arose in the Gate of Recluses before I became mayor there… eight decades ago or so… the Captain would take control during emergencies, and the Mayor would be in control in all civil matters.  Would that arrangement meet your approval, Fath?  Erith?”
   They nodded.
   “What of Iton?” she asked.
   “He’s still in control of design and expansion, but subject to civil directive,” Cerol responded.
   She nodded, then looked down a moment.
   “I’d like the otungerith to train in the military this winter,” she said softly, “I think it might be useful, considering our exposed position.”
   The others were delighted and a little surprised at her insight into the situation.  Iton moved forward in his seat.
   “That is a splendid idea, Fath,” he said.
   She smiled and relaxed.  With her rush of confidence, she continued.
   “Why do we dig away from the fortress?”
   The others turned their eyes to Iton, who now needed to explain his idea.  And he did, explaining that he wanted to collapse the land to make a place to cast a block of obsidian to make a more permanent and awe-inspiring fortress.  Fath was struck by the novelty of it, smiling.
   “This is a good idea, Iton,” she said, but then looked away a moment, “but we could work on the stone below to extract ore before the surface, no?”
   “Yes, we could do that.”
   “Would you, once spring comes?”
   “Of course.  This is not an absurd request, Fath.  Besides, it is my duty to follow your directives.”
   Again she smiled.  It was strange, she thought, that this dwarf who once barked and order at her to take up a hammer and shield to fend off a threat was now happily accepting her suggestions.  As long as she didn’t get in the way, she concluded, things would run smoothly.
   “Now, is there any more business here before I arrange the trade agreements with the new mayor?” Cerol asked.
   “Yes.” Erith said, his grin unhidden by his thick beard.
   “What’s that?”
   “I’d like you to preside over a blessing, cousin,” he said.
   “What sort?”
   “I asked Lorbam,” he said, pausing and barely able to control his happiness, “to marry me.”
   The others started.  This was indeed news!
   “Congratulations,” they said almost in unison.
   “I don’t want a ceremony.  Just a blessing,” he said and sat a polished aluminum goblet on the table.
   “Ahhh,” said Iton, “now I understand that bar of aluminum you were obsessing over.  A marriage goblet!”
   “Yes,” Erith said back, “I didn’t want to say anything until it was final.”
   “I understand, Erith,” Iton said, “I’m your friend, you could have told me.”
   “I wanted it to be a surprise, and,” Erith said, trailing off a minute, “I know you were fond of her.”
   “You two are so happy, and I love you both,” Iton said, “I’d never come between you.  Now, if we keep talking like this, I’m going to become misty.”
   “What?  What aluminum?” interrupted Fath.
   “It was before you were elected mayor,” Erith said back, “I had submitted a mandate to Iton, even though I was to make the goblet.  I wanted it to be by protocol for once.”
   “Oh!” she said, her mind thinking of what might be necessary for her new administration, what might be useful, or what she might want for herself, a certain cupidity creeping in the back of her mind.
   “Then what are we waiting for?” asked Cerol.
The ceremony was brief and to the point, made official by Cerol.  Later, once I had concluded the trading and presenting the offerings for the Onolshalig, I invited Cerol to the first demonstration of what the shocklabor company had accomplished.  He almost bounced with excitement as a large section of the land collapsed underground.  Indeed, we’ve done well this last year.

[Royal Surveyor]

Winter, 1064
I have completed a number of orders for the winter even before it began.  I hope that things will run smoothly without my attention, for I am joining my otungerith company in military training.  We will participate in unarmed combat preparations this season, an abbreviated basic training that Erith has devised.   Upon girding ourselves in light armor, the company, and a new permanent recruit walked to the training ground next to the trade depot…
   Fikod Armorabbeys was excited.  Today he joined the soldiers in training.  Around sun up, the master of the company took a rod of copper and a shield, walking down the central stairway, hammering the former into the latter, bellowing for their attention.
   “Otungerith!  Nilun tosid!” came the cry, followed by the crash of metal on metal, “Otungerith!  Sigun alod!” he bellowed, followed by another crash, “Otungerith!  Fidgam sigun!”
   Fikod was ready, though.  He had already gone to the oddly shaped cavern in which the armory had been assembled.  Steadily, the others arrived, standing casually in the corridor.
   Certainly, he had never thought that he would choose to enter the military, but it was a good change from what he had been doing.  He came to Abironul, having only held a job milking maggots deep underneath the capital.  It was a lonely, thankless job, and while it was comfortable, it was not fulfilling.  He decided to uproot himself and migrate.
   The timing seemed perfect, as heralds had said that a small number of dwarves were being requested for an outpost far to the north, at the edge of the Relonthul.  The journey was long, and brought them through some uncomfortable lands before they reached the Corruption.
   Once arriving, though, he found that there was no need for his skills, and he was asked to burn wood.  This, Fikod thought, was an easy task.  A village idiot could burn wood, but the volume required took some thought as to when to add wood to the flame and when to clear the ashes from the hoppers.  And that was the goal: to make ash.  Again, he thought, this was the work for a village idiot, even if there was some thought involved in the timing to make it efficiently.  Village idiot he was not.  He did it nonetheless, as if there was no work, there would be no food.
   Near the entrance to the caverns, working in the stockpiles of wood, he had opportunity to watch the comings and goings as he produced his gray product.  One of the guards took notice of him, and treated him well, even bringing him mugs of wine on the hottest of days.   He came to know Fath fairly well, and found that she was married to one of the soldiers.  While he was disappointed that there would not be a chance for romance, he was still quite happy to have a friend.
   When she stood for election, he gladly cast his support behind her.  When she achieved victory, he knew it was time to ask that he do something different.  It was an easy request, and one granted seemingly without resistance.
   And now, tightening the hardened leather about his body, he thought of the time he would have to think about life when he was not training.  Indeed, the life of a soldier seemed much less busy than that of a common citizen, even a citizen who had a job that could be easily done by anyone.
   Once the company was armored, it was time to march to the training grounds.  The group milled in a disorganized rabble behind the surveyor, who had taken command of the group.  At the surface, the surveyor held his cap before him.
   “In this, I have put one pebble for each of you.  There are two of each sort.  Pick one and find your sparring partner,” he said clearly and firmly.
Fikod drew a piece of rough, dark stone.  It wasn’t obsidian, it was andesite.  He knew enough that it was far too rough, too little like glass to be the former.  He milled around, and finally came to Worldletters the surveyor.
   “It’s you and me, kid,” he said.
   Kid?  The surveyor couldn’t be much older than he was, Fikod thought.  It rankled his demeanor, and he smiled.
   “You and me, old one,” he said back, smiling.
   “Shall we dance?” Worldletters asked.
   “Absolutely.”
   Suddenly, the broad dwarf was on him, striking him in the shoulder with the palm of one hand.  Fikod made to strike back with his opposing hand.  The surveyor pushed back along Fikod’s centerline, then drew his hand to the side and toward his other shoulder, surprisingly to Fikod, seemingly moving his striking hand away effortlessly and seemingly without force.
   Then he spun, his arm pinned behind him and he felt a boot push the backside of his knee and he was in the dirt, the weight of his adversary concentrated in a knee to the back.
   As soon as it started, it ended.  The surveyor stood, and Fikod felt the weight removed from his back.
   Fikod rose.  He felt cheated, unprepared for the attack.  He stood and faced his sparring partner.
   “Ready for round two?” the surveyor asked.
   Fikod only nodded, then quickly punched the other dwarf in the nose.  He started and stumbled backwards.
   “Rikkur!” the surveyor called, his hands coming to his nose instinctively just as Fikod charged, the latter’s shoulder connecting solidly and squarely.
   They both fell to the ground, but Fikod had the advantage over Worldletters and straddled the broader dwarf’s torso, striking down onto his face and chest.  Many of the shots were blocked, but others connected, spattering a little blood.  He never noticed the other grabbing his leg and twisting him away.  His surprise let the other cuff him in the side of his face, almost on his ear.
   Over and over they began to tumble, striking each other and attempting to get the other to submit.  Rain had begun to fall at some point, and the ground quickly turned from dust to mud, covering both in a nearly ungraspable slickness.
   Eventually both became weary.  Trying to strike each other, they both found that they could not deliver enough force to move the other.  Laughing weakly, they got to their feet.
   “That was fun,” Fikod stated.
   “Indeed.  It’s lunchtime,” Worldletters responded.
   The rain kept falling as they walked to the depot where meat wrapped in light cloth had yet to be taken below.  Fikod took a random package and tossed another to the surveyor.
   “Thank you,” he said, catching it.
   They unwrapped and ate their lunches quietly, more concerned with eating than chatting.
   “Have you fought before?” Worldletters asked.
   “No, never like that,” Fikod replied, “And you?”
   “Not much. You did well.”
   “Thanks.”
   “Think you’ll enjoy this?”
   “I think so.  It’s exciting, not that I crave that, but it is better than what I was doing.”
   “You were doing well there, too,” the surveyor said flatly.
   “Yes, but-“
   “Change can be good, Fikod.  It’s alright.  I think you’re going to do well here.”
Fikod smiled, then had a thought.
   “Are there uniform restrictions?” he asked.
   “No.  Why?”
   “I have an idea for some armor,” Fikod replied.
I sparred with the new permanent recruit, Fikod Armorabbeys.  He did quite well.  An odd request, though, in that he wants to have armor made of bones.  I have no issue with this, and after discussing it with Erith, there really is no reason for him not to have something distinctive, if that is truly what he wants.  I’ll remember to add this to my orders when I return to work in the next few days.

In sadder news, the new clothier, Kadol went insane in the caverns.  Thankfully, she only stopped caring for herself.  She had no friends, but still will be missed.  In exchange for that, though, Edem had a baby girl.  One life in exchange for another.  Hopefully, this new child will help Edem and Litast distance themselves from the grief caused by Ablel's death.

[Royal Surveyor]

Spring, 1065
Neither end of the previous year nor the beginning of the current year contained a quarter-ilon  celebration.  Truly, there has been a smooth winter.  The drawbridge was brought up and I trained with my shocklabor company.  In fact, there is still a pile of unfinished work orders.

There was a minor tragedy as the elven merchants approached this year…
   “Goblins!” someone shouted, the call repeated down into the earth in rapid time.
   Kubuk Floorlulled looked down the slope to the entrance and saw nothing, but the screams and shouts coming over the south wall described something different.  He turned to count how many of his squad remained on the training ground, but his eyes fixed on the captain who emerged from the fortress with a squad of marksdwarves.
   “Bows to the lead, melee follow up and take advantage of the disarray!” the tall dwarf commanded and swept his arm toward the gate.
   So it was.  Kubuk took up his spear and fixed his helm over his head then lowered the visor.  He moved slower, taking his time to let them take up a forward position.  A new recruit, Sibrek, sped by him, keeping pace the marksdwarves and sword in hand.  Kubuk still took his time.
   He rounded the outer gates.  Sibrek suddenly flew through the air nearby, trailing an arc of blood.  A squad of goblins carrying axes had charged out of the bushes.  They drove a wedge between him and the marksdwarves, who were disappearing around the corner to the south.  They were cut off soon to be driven between hammer and anvil, axe and sword.
   Sibrek hit the ground.  Kubuk hefted his spear in hand and looked left and back.  No one.  There was no time to wait for the others, no time to retreat: the goblins were upon him. 
   Flexing at the knee, he broke the stride of one with a shield and sent it to the side.  He thrust forth with his spear and felt it connect with another.  Flesh and bone gave way.  Three inches was enough to give a goblin. 
   Another stepped to the outside and swung its axe over its head, a mighty display of strength and arrogance.  Kubuk stepped back with his right foot, twisted his hips at the same time to bring his shield in line with that dreadful arc.  The maneuver brought his spear back into the striking position, and he thrust it.  Iron cleaved iron and the soft flesh again gave way to the deadly will of the spear.  The goblin’s heart still pumped, ignorant of the fate that had just befallen it as Kubuk again pulled back his faithful spear.
   Two more were already upon him, the left battering an axe against his shield, the right pushing slashing a sword against his mail.   Kubuk again fell back and turned to the second one, deflecting a sword slash outward with his spear, lining up a strike to its chest.  His spear again found its mark, he thrust again whilst deflecting ineffectual axe blows with his shield.  The first began to double over, the second pushed forth.  Others began to push in on him, their senses returning after having been disarmed by the ferocity of this singular dwarf.
   Kubuk could barely hear the sound of crossbow bolts as they zipped by, dangerously close to his body.  So focused on the kill-nay-the slaughter of these fell beings he only acknowledged what was happening when he saw the remaining goblins beginning to fall.
   Soon there were none.
   He turned around to see two marksdwarves and the remainder of his squad advancing toward the south corner.  The pounding in his ears began to subside and he raised his visor, facing his squad leader.  His battle was over.  He did his part.
   “Iteb, it’s yours,” he said to the squad leader, walking back to the gates.

The troops were too late, though, and the entirety of the elven caravan was slaughtered.  It is odd they do not travel with escorts, and in a way, I blame the elves for not taking precaution.  The bins of cloth they left behind are welcome, however.  The speardwarf, Kubuk Floorlulled, made a name for himself.  Of the eight goblins that participated in a second ambush, he slew five.  Erith says that his determination and quickness to follow orders warrants him to command the squad, not Iteb, who was busying himself with drink when the order came.  One recruit, a former pump operator named Sibrek was slain in the battle.

The shocklabor was diverted to fishing.  The clothier, Vucar, had become prey to one of the moods that frequent this place.  It was different, though, it was as if she was someone else, and we suspect possession.  Upon getting her turtle shell, she made this:



I wonder a few things about this creation.  Is the image of trousers to remind us how this is to be worn?  What about the mule?  It’s on the back.  I suppose this means ‘ass-this way.’ How helpful.  In any case, more than one hundred thousand copper coins, so I reckon that is something.  Given the hirsute nature of my people, I wonder what real use this might have.  There are odd spirits lingering in the halls here.  Twisted spirits, but I suppose in a more benign (and some may say delightful) way.

Lastly, one of the Edirkolruken has arrived, a certain dwarf named Lokum Relicspotted.  I have ordered quarters, dining, and office space set up for her.  I have yet to meet her.