To: Stoneworkers Guildmaster Rubin Ceilingpelt, Boltlungs
From: Noam Paintcovers, Stoneworkers Guild Representative to Shotstockades
Date: 2 Galena Y.62
Sir, I’ve arrived here in Shotstockades and taken control of their nascent stoneworker’s guild, as instructed. The the existing masons were already attempting to organize themselves. They’d agreed upon a set of rules, no leadership, just a commune of stoneworking. Idiots. I could have told them that the simple existence of rules would incite *someone* to break them, and then where would they be, with no enforcement? And, unsurprisingly, before I got there, some idiot marksdwarf had locked himself into the mason’s workshop and carved himself a hatch cover. Lovely piece of art, there, but it kept the other stoneworkers idle for a week while he worked!
This place is, in a word, a mess. The supposed leader of this expedition, Tosid, is an overwrought dreamer with no leadership. I travelled here with his wife, who spoke of his piousness and love of history but failed to mention he’s got no backbone. Every time I think that someone else is going to step up and fill the power vacuum, though, he does something to keep the reins in his hands – all the while protesting that he doesn’t want the responsibility.
The day I arrived, I came upon the dwarf who’s been handling the farms, Erith Workescort, having an animated discussion with a phlegmatic herbalist named Momuz. Erith’s got this incredibly complicated system set up for how the kitchens are supposed to be running, But she doesn’t have enough bodies to fill the positions she’s set up; everybody’s taking on multiple tasks. Clearly she was trained in the giant kitchens of Mirrorvirtues, with all their bureaucracy and inefficiencies. And instead of taking the opportunity to run a tight shop here she’s just replicated her own little fiefdom. Anyway, on her big organizational chart, herbalists apprentice to general farmers, but Momuz is having none of it. This dwarf knows what she wants; she wants to pick flowers and she’s good at it. But as Erith began to go from cajoling to outright bullying, Tosid suddenly shows up. He makes noises of genial agreement with Erith – yes, a fortress this small requires us all to learn outside our own specializations, and so on. And then he wipes the smug smile right off Erith’s face by apprenticing Momuz to himself, and teaching her trade duties.
I suspect he needed somebody to take the heat off him, because the other dwarves were livid that he’d apparently just traded with elves. I’d heard this about the Mirrorvirtues folk, this obsessional hostility towards the forest-dwellers, but I had to see it in person to really understand it. The stories are no exaggeration – these dwarves have a bloody-mindedness towards the elves I’ve never seen before. I realize that most of them come from a people who’ve been at war with the elves since the dawn of time, but I had expected that living out here in these forested hills would have given them some, well, perspective.
And Tosid just let them talk. Would you believe? Can you imagine the chaos if our own mayor allowed such mutterings against his decisions?
But just like with Erith and the herber, Tosid responds by bending their attention instead of taking a strong hand. He interrupted their whining to make a public thank-you to one of his wrestlers, who did nothing more heroic than scuff up the peat while he was on patrol. Under the peat was clean, white sand – and Tosid managed to divert all the rage of all his dwarves by getting them excited about the brand-new glassworks he had their glassmaker set up.
Clearly this fortress needs a display of authority. Tosid’s wife has this friend whose husband is a gemcutter. Meng, the husband, has already shared some interesting insights into the dysfunction of leadership here at Shotstockades. And I have ideas about how we might put them into practice. I will, of course, keep you updated.
Respectfully yours,
Noam Paintcovers
Author
Topic: Letters from Shotstockades (Read 3616 times)