Nokzamkulal: The reluctant origin of Lęgankordam (YetAnotherCommunityFortress)
Or 'Come for the acronym, stay for the train wreck fiction.' If you prefer.
*CREAK*
My head hurt.
*CREAK*
And there was this annoying noise in my room.
*CREAK*
Upon opening my eyes I discovered I wasn’t in the filthy hovel of a home provided for me. It was some place worse. Outside.
*CREAK*
“Why the nashon shash am I outside?” I muttered
“Beats me” came a gravelly voice frighteningly close to me. I bolt up and am suddenly stopped by a wave of nausea. I have to close my eyes if I don’t want to spit up whatever it was I was drinking last night.
*CREAK*
Once the moment passes I let my eyelids slowly open. Before me I saw the sun rising over a mountain peak across a valley from where I sat. The sky was mercilessly clear and bright to my sore eyes. The peaks across the valley began to sink into the earth as the bed I lay on began to shift. Soon only clear blue sky filled my vision as I felt myself falling back into bed.
“Ah, now you done it.” came that gravelly voice again.
*CREEAAKKK*
The world began to shake and move. “Cave In!” I yelled wondering if the sky could fall and crush you the way mother claimed it would.
“It’s not a cave in ya daft shimbîl. It’s the ground not the sky.” With that a pair of large hands, hard and cracked from years of labor appeared before me. My arms won’t respond fast enough as those hard cracked hands move towards my neck. Instead of crushing the life from me though, they settled on my tunic and pulled me up and around. The sight greeting me did nothing for soothing my nausea. My bed was filled with filthy dwarves and jostling barrels. Most disconcerting of all though was how my bed was not only outside but rushing down the a rocky slope.
“Perhaps we should do something about that.” I offered, my mind finally honing in on the important piece of information regarding my survival.
“Well aren’t you a fountain of ideas” Gravel voice muttered, dropping me back down and making his way forward over my bed. Not bed, wagon, it must be a wagon I decided. “I’ll try to get this mangy ass to slow down, you see if you can’t make yourself useful by slowing the wheels.”
There was all manner of junk in the wagon before me. Barrels bounced against each other threatening to break loose from where they were bound to the wagon rails an anvil lay beneath a dwarf holding on as if it were the only sure thing in this suddenly uncertain world. A sudden bump and I’m in the air, hands desperately grasping for purchase. They latch onto a stalk of tower cap wood just as a second bump causes a dwarf seated on a nearby barrel to fly off into a problem that at least excludes wagons. A second glance around shows me that we’ve still got four dwarves clinging to supplies with white knuckles and green faces.
“Woah! Woah you nashon zagith.” Gravel Voice bellowed, in a roar that became nearly indistinct from the rattle of the rocks collapsing down the slope with us.
My hands, tightly wrapped around the wood log began to burn from the vibration of sliding across the unsmoothed stalk. Ah blessed discomfort, ever the incentive and the muse. I turned to the dwarf clutching the anvil. “Anvilhands, come here and help me stop this disaster.” Anvilhands moved up off the anchor and over to me. A few moments instructing him of our plan followed by more cursing from G.V. and soon we were in position.
With my signal we both pushed a log down between the wheels and the wagon walls. The first time the log nearly jerked out of my hands but I hastily pushed it back between the wheels creating as much frictionas possible. For that I was rewarded with a face full of smoke from the now smouldering wheel and the cries of dismay from some dwarf behind me. Before a wheel could break or a serious fire could begin I feel the wagon turn and come to a jarring stop, sending me head over heels out of the wagon.
A cloud of silty dust fills my vision and the coughing and hacking dwarves my ears, welcoming sensations compared to moments earlier.
“Here now, no sense in laying in the dirt just because you’ve lost your seat” stated a dwarf picking me up by my shoulders. “Well aren’t you’re a light one.” I could hear him say as he set me back on my feet. No need to remark on the comment though, this morning’s events will be all anyone thinks about not my seemingly light stature. Turning around to flash a grin of thanks at Mr. Helpful is all the response I give as I dust myself off. The rest of the dwarves do similar followed shortly by the immediate need of all dwarves. The collection of goods and assets. A bar of iron is pulled out from under a set of tanned hides, along with a pair of copper picks. Anvilhands is dusting the recently used anchor and examining it for scratches, as if that were somehow to impede its usefulness. Another collects a hammer and chisel tucking the masons tools into their belt. It seems I alone notice the paper roll nailed to the underside of the wagon. Not having a trade of my own and no need to jealously hang on to the log that had so recently been our acting savior I curiously pick up and open the Scroll.
Dearest Lęgan
Ok, well it looks like someone knows why I’m here.
“No doubt you’re the only one who’s noticed my scroll where the others are thinking of doing some actual work to resolve the situation. So consider yourself summarily promoted to leader. Now before you think of a clever method of getting out of your new role I suggest you start a camp in the valley to the east of the mountain you’re resting on before you’re spotted by the-“Giant!” urged a dwarf who’d been resting atop a barrel and surveying the area.
There it was sitting on a boulder kickking a dead hoary marmot. It looked up and held me frozen as I realized it not only saw me but that it had only one eye. “That’s no giant, it’s a Cyclops.” I whispered to my now suddenly important fellow dwarves in trouble.
“Yes well we best do something before the rest spot us.” Gravel Voice stated leaning against the wagon.
“Rest? What do yo-“ A dwarf who I hadn’t really noticed said with a straw of cave wheat he’d found amongst the supplies tucked between his teeth. I wasn’t really concerned with his hygiene of resourcefulness as I now saw that there was not one but five cyclopes lounging about in the field below us, kicking about a hoary marmot corpse in some twisted version of kick-ore.
Through gritted teeth I gave the order “Everyone, grab what you can and head up and over the mountain, we’re digging in and not dallying about.”
“Not that I care to hang about” Gravel Voice said, moving from his position with the easy confidence of someone used to correcting others “and see if we’re of anymore interest to that band of one eyed bastards than their bunsoth game of kick the corpse but you’re the one who sent us careening down this nashon hill already and whats ta say their aint something even worse on the other side. I say-“ He was getting into his speech to point out how he’d be a much safer fellow to follow and while normally I’d care less, leadership brings too much work and worse responsibility than I was comfortable with. However, it seems the Baron, and who else could’ve left that note but the Baron? Had some information on where we were and more importantly what we faced than any of us did and damned if I was going to let go of that precious information to a codgy old dwarf more concerned with a crusty title or acknowledgement of authority than my immediate safety.
“Shut up boulder breath” I seethed at him, catching him off guard with my sudden intensity. “I’ve got the supply and support orders here” I shoved the scroll I’d been reading, now wound back up into a n imposing bundle up under his nose, “our safety and survival hinges on a secure operation well clear of our current position.” At least I hope it would. Now to direct the blame back on him before he can question me. “If you had secured the wagon instead of pondering your belly button lint we wouldn’t be a cliff’s edge away from some Cycolops’ stew.” Now I need to give him something he wants. “So organize the removal of goods from the wagon and start hauling it over that peak.” Gravel Voice was nearly purple with frustration but all the wind blew from his sails when I gave him that last bit of authority. Now I just need to make clear sure that I don't leave him alone with everyone.
“You there, with the pick in your hands” I pointed with one hand while turning around. "Come with me"
"Where are we going?"The miner responded while hefting his pick onto his shoulder.
"You’re going to save our beards.”
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This little community fortress will be using Cpt. Mayday's Legendary Lands mod so there will be deaths once things get up and running and the full purpose of fortress begins. It won't all be done in 1st person but thought I'd try it out.
Embark map coming soon, along with some personality profiles of the available dwarves. Only Lęgan is needed so the other 6 will be available. Plenty of room for additional background story on the other dwarves, including the so far unnamed Gravel Voice, Murdergrin and Hayseed, lots of immigrants. Let me know if there are labor\sex preferences.
Oh and please add any critiques or comments.
Embark:
The Characters So Far:
Crispin is the easiest dwarf here. He's uneasy about this whole affair, keeps to himself and is happy to stay busy. There's nothing odd about his character either. He's a smith. He'd made a living making all sorts of things; though he thought weapons and armor more interesting he had no complaint about the odd job here or there. There was a pause before he mentioned odd job though, something to inquire later. And he's taken to protecting that anvil as if one of us might hide it away somewhere when he wasn't looking. By the size of his arms he's probably a bit practiced swinging a hammer should he need to.
I don't think this one's quite caught on to the dire nature of our predicement or if She's just playing us. She's also the friendly one who commented on my stature, if she's thought any more on it she hasn't said. She's good with the food though so no one mind's her peppy attitude come time to scrap some dinner from the barrels. Either way I nearly coughed up my liver when she asked if I wanted to braid each other's hair on break with her. She took my coughing as a sign that I might need some kidney snacks and stuffed a few pieces of fish in my mouth. 'To help with aspiration' she told me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Next to Crispin, no one's been such a good addition as Thjald. When our other miner Betsy, the chipper one fell coming down the hill shattering a barrel of much needed rum she carried sent a forearm length splint of wood through her thigh. It was our other miner who casually walked up, pulled it free. A quick wrapping and mentioning of the curative properties of our rum and we didn't bother making a litter for Betsy (not that I'm certain we could lift her) and she seemed fine not to lay about getting only water. First time I'd seen him step forward without looking for approval first, when he saw the blood shoot out of her leg. Possibly disconcerting but if someone must murder me in my sleep I'd prefer they do it proper and without a lot of guess work on how to finish the job.
This unfrotunate sad sack arrived at the fort expecting respect, authority and finally regaining his own sense of self worth. Instead his decisions lead to disaster, his name curse by the dead and dying and all that was left in this world he betrays to save his own beard. Thats before he even got to the front door.
Our mason looks like he'd be more comfortable as the subject of a statue than the creator of one. Not that he's the most handsome I've seen but his bearing, it's not that of a man puffed with the pride of his work or his wealth but in something deeper. His eyes though, there's none of the fire of the proud left there only the broken. He hasn't brought up why just yet but I've spotted him rubbing a thin metal disk between his fingers when he goes on break.
The Characters yet to be claimed. (All commments can\will be adjusted to fit profiles requested but the below comments hint at who or what else they are.)
He claims to be nothing more than a a simple fisherdwarf and maybe he now is but the way he
carefully laid down the logs once we had our stockpiles belied a familiarity. It was probably
his most honest moment as despite his ready smile it seems he'd barely flinch if one of us didn't
make it back inside one day.
The red checks and bronze skin might fool a human or an elf as standard for a farmer but what sort've dwarf farmer spends time in the sun? I won't complain she's easily the most comfortable moving up and down the mountain retrieving our supplies.
DECEASEDIt seems there was something strange about this dwarf that she hid from us all this time. The mystery remains as she was bludgeoned to death by one of the unfortunate immigrants who couldn't take the strain of travel to our fort.
Author
Topic: Nokzamkulal: Year 2, Migrant Mayhem (Community Fortress) (Read 4196 times)