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[Haika]

wait wait wait,

Legan is a SHE? rofl,

How did I not notice XD

Gah, it's right there in the first post, and I totally missed it.

[TheMirth]

Most of the lead dwarves tend to be males, I didn't do much of anything overt about it so it'd be easy enough to skim past. And who knows, maybe Betsy thinks Legan's just an effeminate tax keeper from the mountainhome?

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Journal of Thjald Helmtops.
Two Kobold-folk thieves were sighted and killed today.
Fortress seems to be on sound rocks, no imminent danger aside from the Cyclopes.
Basic rooms excavated.
Must remember to lecture the fat one on proper mining technique.
I'll prove there's life in me yet.

[TheMirth]

Post Incoming,

sneak peak:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Spidars D:>

[TheMirth]

Limestone, the first year of Nokzamkulal.
Baron's quarter's, auxiliary office.

The dwarf was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn't used to taking a hard line with the nobility. Or in fact with anyone really.
     Things all changed when the last fort he ws working in fell apart. Things had been good at first, enough stitching work and shopkeeping to keep a dwarf busy and fed. But then things became a bit too busy and the place had become overcrowded and the nobility even more demanding with their work orders and even more absurd with their punishment. One year The engineer's guild tried what they called 'the final solution'. The nervous dwarf now sitting in uncomfortably in the Baron's had been to shy to even ask anyone what was going on at the time. It was only when smoke had filled the hallways and the screams of his neighbors woke him that he realized there was magma flowing down the stairs. His workshop had been close to the entrance so he escaped the place where many others had not.  The other survivors stood outside the gates of their prior home, Illinago. The engineers cheered drunkenly from their booze stockpile they must've setup ahead of time. The fort's hunter had escaped and cursed them before treading off into the forests with his dog, leaving the nervous dwarf with the only other survivor a female calf named Oleary. With no where else to go they headed back to the mountainhome where there was no need for someone with out at least a master's level of skill. A few nobles had sent out open invitations to join some expedition or other but the nervous dwarf had had enough with the nobility and the guilds.

It wasn't until he came across a recruitment for BTI, an investment company that he was motivated to work again. The recruiting process was grueling and he had failed at most of what they asked of him but it seemed his willingness to immediately do as he was told was the real test, scoring very high for obedience to his boss.

That was how he had ended up in his current position. Surrounded on both sides by royal guards and making demands of the Baron.

"uhm.. well, you see, uhm your Barondwarfshipnessire. It's not that uhm we're not, that is to say we at BTI not we as in my family, don't doubt your uhm, honest intentions to start paying dividends on our investment see, it's just that uhm, Our, that is to say my, bosses would like some sign that things are going well" he said as forcefully as possible into the dark morass of a beard that covered the Baron's face. Dark beads of ferocity peered back at him for what seemed hours. Finally a flash of white in what the nervous dwarf hoped was a smile, though a vicious evil looking smile even at best, appeared in the jungle of a beard the dwarf baron wore.

"Well, I think I have the perfect compromise." the sound of of a marble column beginning to lose structural integrity had a friendlier tone then the Baron's. "I want nothing more than to reassure the fears of my investors. And as a show of good faith, I'll let you come and see the secret investment I've been working on." With that the baron began to sort through a chest filled with maps beside his desk. "Now it is the utmost importance you follow my directions carefully or you may not find the place."

The nervous dwarf's shoulders began to relax as it looked like he had done a good job representing his company.

Lęgan 15th of Limestone, Our first year.

We had a bit of excitement today. The door to our little dwelling actually knocked. It was Betsy who hurriedly brought everyone to the door. She was convinced that it must be her Uncle to bring her a Fortwarming present. The rest seemed more wary. In this matter, I agreed with Betsy. Whatever horrors this land had for us they did not appear to be the knocking sort. Though I suspected that no family members were going to make the trek across the valley of doome and demise to get here, perhaps it was someone from the Baron come to check on things early. See if there'd even be a point to sending supplies come next year.

Although the ladies of the fort had guessed their intentions were friendly, neither of us had correctly guessed who the visitors were.

A liaison. From the mountainhome. With three mules loaded with goods to trade. So a nice suprise for once.

When I was alone with the man I asked how they made it through the valley. He shrugged and said one step in front of the other. When I asked about the monsters he just looked at me funny. He asked what we needed and I mentioned some iron or an axe or at least more wood. He laughed and chastised me for not preparing for my expedition well enough. Then he proceeded to tell me to begin making short swords and fine delicacies to ship back to the mountainhome. I nodded and assured him we were mere days away from getting our metalworking industries up and running. Then I inquired as to how he knew where we were and he showed me something unsettling. An official request with approval form for an expedition into the Beloved Swamps beside the Beloved Axe. With my signature at the bottom. That nishom Baron. And no, I don't care if you're reading this. I'm doing my part and if you are reading it that means I died trying so you keep your end or I'll spend the rest of the afterlife haunting you and your family.

MountainHome School for Art Appreciation, Date: N/A

"...and this is a good representative showing of the engraving style for the period." The professor droned as he placed a sketching in the front of the room.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

"You can tell by the crudeness that the artist was not very good but its subject matter is what we're interested in here. The lines along the side drawing the viewers eyes upwards and the emotional implications floating towards the heavens to our gods. Yest down from the heavens we see only a cynical response from our Heavenly dwarven fore-bearers. This is a common concept of the time, that the powers of the world united against the dwarves. Now the next example in this series deals with the dwarves inner feelings, as represented by a demon, or our 'fears', skinning the subject alive and thus baring our secrets to ridicule..."

Lęgan 19th of Limestone, our First year.

The traders have left and with it a few goods I managed to convince them were worth their while. Gravelvoice had ignored my orders to make some stone baubles, probably recognizing it as the busywork I intended it to be, and this worked out as I subtly pointed the fact out to Thjald who leaked it to Betsy during a digging session, at which point the whole fort was now aware and thinking it. So GravelVoice's little power play is stunted but that didn't leave us anything to trade. I had the kobold rags brought out pretending they were for slight for children, this didn't net us much more than a few barrels of booze and some much needed meat. There was some metal bars they had stashed on one of the beasts of burden though and that's what we needed to get an axe for fuel to start smelting any ore we find.

The only thing that we had an excess of was mechanism materials so I presented them as if they were the finest treasures, despite honestly being crude first attempts I had made. The traders looked unconvinced but traded for them anyhow. They left afterwards, leaving to the west, which I hope is a safer mountain range than the path to the east they came from.

1st Timber, the Beloved Axe Region

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The nervous dwarf looked over his papers again. They gave him rank as an official representative for BTI and a sealed invitation letter from the Baron to whomever was leading the fort. He stuffed the documents back into the satchel carried by his beloved pet calf Oleary. He had grown in confidence over the past month, given a promotion within the company and the charge of several migrant workers the baron had claimed were all in need of some education. No doubt in their fields of trade the dwarf thought to himself. He had even made friends with a leatherworker named Feb as they traveled.

The pace was easy going and the surrounding wilderness was filled with a serene atmosphere. A twig snapping caused the lead dwarf, a glassmaker by trade to stop. The whole forest seemed suddenly too quiet. The BTI representative gathered everyone together and had the lowly peasant poke the bush the noise came from. The peasent licked his lips before picking up a long stick. Olearly the calf merely chewed some grass, unconcerned about the whole stoppage. A gentle poke into the bush produced no response and the peasant looked back to see if that was good enough. The BTI rep put on his sternest face. "Now, give her a real poke there you. No slacking it on my watch." Another poke, produced a rustle in the underbrush but no more. "Come on, give her a real jab." the agitated rep urged. With both hands grasping the branch the peasant thrust into the bush with all his might. With an explosion of a leaves a hoary marmot dashed out and ran away into the forest distance. A pregnant pause later the entire troupe burst into laughter. Even Oleary the cow bleated with them.

"WASTE"

A voice boomed through the trees cutting the laughter short.

"WHINE"

The dwarves looked at each other

"WADDLE"

The earth began to shake.

"WHARF"

leaves shook from the trees as the dwarves clutched each other in terror.

"I SMELL THE BLOOD OF A TASTY DWARF!"

On the final note of his rhyme, Azorek the Cyclops reached down through the trees behind the group to grab a terrified glassmaking dwarf.

The sight of the beast sent panic through the crowd and the dwarves scattered. The BTI representative dashed northward with Feb. A crafter the representative barely spoke to was following behind them. "Wait for me Sirs, I don't know the way." He called after them.
The rep called behind him to hurry the dwarf up when the shadow of the trees in front of him came a live.  A pair of dark red eyes shown from behind the murky depths and a sound like leather over sand accompanied its voice.

"Welcome, won't you join me to play?" it offered the representative who was now stunned silent.

"Sir, no! Look out!" The unknown craftsdwarf called out as he leapt in front of his boss, just in time to catch the leaping monster as it moved to attack. Blood and chunks of dwarf went everywhere, shocking the representative out of his stupor and sending him running after Feb. It didn't take him long though to catch up to his friend.

"Feb, why are you standing there? We need to get out of here, there's all manner of horrible monsters about."

Feb jerked a little, in what might be assumed was a shrug but when the Rep put his hand to shoulder he realized that the dwarf was caught fast in a giant web. Not a second later a giant monster dropped from the trees onto the restrained dwarf. Eight horrid claws tore into his new friend, forcing the Rep to run for his life again.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Rep ran with all his might to the mountainside in front of him, on the other side supposedly lay his safety. If he could believe the papers the Baron had given him that is. He glanced back at Oleary, faithfully running beside him. No bleating or whining the creature was the closest thing to family the dwarf had.

"Don't leave just yet, You'll miss dinner time." that sound of leather on sand again. The rep didn't look back, he just pushed himself up the mountain. Even when the sound of Olearly crying finally stopped and the only thing to be heard was the beating of his heart and his feet scuffling across the mountain slope he kept pushing towards his new post. Nakzamkulal.

Lęgan 1st Timber, Our first year

I was sleeping when the screams came. Through some quirk of the mountains sound was echoing through the valley carrying horrible screaming and wailing. Undwarf and humanoid screaming mixed with that of dwarf, whichever was worse the mixture was unbearable. I called for the bridge leading leading to our entrance cut when we spotted something moving. It was a dwarf. Thjald and Betsy were called up with their pick axes at the ready incase anything was following him, he was certainly running as if there were. Nothing came though. Just a tear stricken dwarf covered in blood.

I haven't had time to question him, he needs to rest and recover. We gave him the best cure-all we had, a good drink, to try and set him at ease but he's looking a bit touch and go mentally. I'll update as soon as I have more out of him.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[Haika]

wow, hehe, the traders get through without so much as a scratch but the migrants get eaten.

hil-ar-ious   

And of course Betsy is as cheerful and chatty as ever.

[TheMirth]

2nd Moonstone, Nokzamkulal Year Zero
Fort Manager's Office.
Meeting Minutes
Lęgan: Lęgan SpearSnaked presiding manager.
Lęgan: Present.
Lęgan: Acecudgel, BTI Investments representative.
BTI Rep: Uhm, present.
Lęgan: And Record Keeper Lęgan Spearsnaked.
BTI Rep: *ahem*
(names are checked and filed)
Lęgan: Present, Very well now. Now lets get this meeting started. First item on the agenda, Roll Call. Well we've got that out of the way, now haven't we?
BTI Rep: Yes. erhm I suppose.
Lęgan: Ok, second item. A request to Promote Mr. Acecudgels to Chief Officer of Overwatching and Investment reporting. Well, that's a long title.
BTI Rep: Yes well it's all been approved and as such you see...I was given papers and a seal with a ribbon and an official envelope.
Lęgan: Oh! Well, then lets get right on it. I'll just record these documents and have them sent over to our processing center, the verification department will have a look-see. Then up the official chain of command where it will no doubt be approved and off to the planning committee where the ceremony will be scheduled.

BTI Rep: ahem..well..That all seems like a bit much, I don't think that's will be neces-I mean a party, thank you, that is, it's not that I don't appreciate the though its just that it seems overly complicated. I mean, aren't you most of those departments? Is it really necessary to go through all that?

Lęgan: No. It isn't. But you're the one who wanted to file an official request for the consideration of your status and promotion to Chief, whatever it's called.

BTI Rep: Well you didn't need to be rude about it!

Lęgan: I wasn't. The first time you asked. Nor the second. The third, the fourth, the fi-Listen when you were asking me for an official meeting while I was hanging by my feet trying to construct one of the new bridges, did that really strike you as a good time for this?

BTI Rep: I'm just trying to do my Job!

Lęgan: As am I! And right now this entire fort is on Masonry duty except for Thjald. We've got a short time span to get this through Mr. Acecudgles and I don't need you whining about permits and recordings..

BTI Rep: w-w-wwell I came here for a purpose and I intend on doing it.

Lęgan: I offered you the position of record keeper but you said you didn't know how to write. So how exactly were you planning on sending these reports?!?

BTI Rep: Well I'm a leather worker of course.

Lęgan: And...is that supposed to mean something to me?

BTI Rep: Well, you see, I-I-I sew images.

Lęgan: ...

BTI Rep: Images, you know stories onto things.

Lęgan: Things.

BTI Rep: Yes like bags and shirts and, y-y-you know things!

Lęgan: I'm still not following.

BTI Rep: Well, say you had a fire here at the fort.

Legan: ok...I'll pretend you're not threatening me here.

BTI Rep: n-n-n-nonono. I mean just say there was a fire. So I would, uhm sew an image of that fire onto a shirt and a pair of pants. Then a, uhm, merchant or messenger would, they would take that shirt and pair of pants and they would uhm wear them to my bosses. So my bosses would see that and they would, determine from the pictures of the fire on the clothes, 'So I see, there's been a fire. Good job messenger pants. And good job MR. Acecudgels.'

Lęgan:...

BTI Rep: See? They would see the images I've sown, y'see and they would say 'I see-

Lęgan: That is the stupidest Idea I have ever heard. And I lived in the mountain home court amidst some of the laziest and inbred nobles you've ever seen. In fact Mr. Acecudgels perhaps, I've been wrong all along. How could I have doubted you? You're clearly the mentally disabled third cousin of the Baron himself, dropped on his head once when his mother spat him out, once more when she couldn't grasp him with her congenitally misfigured lobster hands and a third time just because it'd become something of a bit of fun.

BTI Rep: Listen here y-y-y-you lillywaisted elff-
[thick black scratches mar this section of the minutes]

Lęgan: Are you finished? Because if you think a few choice words are going to convince me to give you any sort've authority here. When you, the one wanting some respect, just led the entire squad of our reinforcements to the most gruesome ending described since..well since I've ever heard of. You're sadly mistaken. I will gladly grind your face so deep to the bone, people will confuse your agak for your face, if your try and push this!

BTI Rep: ...

Lęgan: Good, now get out and get back to putting that wall together.

BTI Rep: [incoherent mumbles. Something about joining the engineers guild and working out the solution finally or some such. note: applicant does not seem suitable for mechanists training, do not pursue comment]

End Meeting.

Meeting Summary: Complainant requested special benefits for suffering recent tragedy. Request Denied.

How did you deny this request?
[]Gently
[]Somewhat gently
[]Not So gently
[]With candor
[]Not so harshly
[]Somewhat Harshly
[X] Harshly

Was the complainant satisfied his denial?
[]Very Satisfied
[]Somewhat Satisfied
[]Not so satisfied
[]Neither satisfied or dissatisfied
[]Somewhat dissatisfied
[X] I'm having this dwarf watched.

Lęgan 15th of Opal, Our first Year at Nokzamkulal

Things are coming together for us. We now have a proper workshop section to the fort, and with some structure cobbled together I couldn't deny Crispin's requests any longer. In fact he had begun constructing a wood furnace before I had given the word but it seemed only logical and it was good to see someone with initiative and a willingness to work with the fort instead of against it.

With the bit of iron we got from the merchant crispin used our last log to make some charcoal and work it into a well crafted axe for Murdergrins₁. This will allow us to harvest more wood for burning and smelting once we find some ore but it doesn't make the woods, themselves any safer than how fast Murdergrins₁ can swing his axe. The idea came to me shortly about walling a section of the forest off but then there was the manner of letting merchants and travellers in and so forth. With this in mind I've designed a series of raised bridges which will connect to our main entrance through which we can separate and strand any hostile force that arrives. Most importantly though it will delay anything coming in, allowing any dwarf outside a chance to get back into the fortress and seal it first.

Here's a draft of where we are so far at the north end of the Valley.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Mr. Acedcudgles our BTI Investments representative is not doing so well. He had described the horror that came down on his group aft he had a good night's rest. And our farmer took off that morning to sneak over the hill to verify things. She couldn't corroborate some of the more fantastic elements of his story but did verify that a number of dwarf corpses were  left crushed with cyclops tracks surrounding them. Despite the effect it could have on moral, I ordered all dwarves lost in the forest of the Decent Axe, and all their belongings, forbidden and to left where they lie. May the gods have mercy on me for it but there's no use in dieing trying to recover one set of bones only to be leaving a set beside them.

Ah but I was talking about our 'Official Representative'. Once he had become coherent enough to work he began talking of his mandate to oversee the progress of the fort. While I was initially eager to have his help, either to help shoulder the burden or to offload it should I convince the Baron I'd done my part of whatever he's cooking here. However, his knowledge of running a fort was even less than mine before I had arrived here. His insistence on following rules and procedures according to corporate policy and his incessant nagging about grief counseling finally wore me down. While I think he's a good dwarf, he's just the sort've troublemaker you get when you give some confidence lacking clerk a little authority. Bureaucracy, the letter of the law grueling obedience. I had to crush him now before the poison spread any worse. Thankfully he had lost his documents on his pet yak that would've verified any truth to his claims of legitimacy. Coincidentally enough, the only papers he happened to have on him were a set of management complaint forms.

_{1. I'm really getting tired of calling him that. But so far all attempts to get his name out have lead only to showing off that grin. I think it's become something of a game to him.}

3rd Obsidian Nokzamkulal Year Zero
Fort Manager's Office.

Lęgan was seated behind her desk going over her bridge designs, when she heard the clamor. There in the doorway to her office stood Mr. Acecudgels, the fort's BTI Rep. His silhouette hid his expression, and making Lęgan uncomfortable.

"Yes, yes. Mr. Acecudgels, what is it?" She said, looking over the papers in her hads.

"I, *hic*, I *hic* Got something right here for you Ms. Spearsnaked" drawled the dwarf as he hefted a barrel up over his head.

Lęgan waited to see what he would do next but he continued to stand there. "What are you planning on doing with that barrel Representative?" Lęgan questioned as she slowly positioned herself to leap away should things go sour.

"Wha-? Oh this? I-uh. I. Uh. Wait here one second" and the dwarf stumbled out the door with his barrel back at waist height. Moments later he returned and stepped into the light. His eyes shown blood shot red and his moustache was matted with dried snot. The sight causes Lęgan to cringe and lean back in her stone chair.

"Uhm. Representative what can I do for you?" The bushy black eyebrows furrow on the BTI Rep's head, his mouth forming a hard grimace like an angry fist. Before Lęgan can react the BTI Rep's arms are wrapped around her in a tight bear hug.

*Bawl* "Oh Oleary! Why'd I leave you behind? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, _{so sorry}"

"Uhm.. there, there. Mr. Acecudgles. there, there." Lęgan forced herself to say as she attempted to pry his arms from around her. More wailing was all she got in response. With no foreseeable escape in sight, Lęgan sat herself down onto the floor and stroked Mr. Acecudgles's  beard as he continued to sob into her lap. As the hours wore Betsy came by and dropped off some marmot biscuits, which Mr. Acecudgles ate quickly and Lęgan nibbled on while waiting for this awkward night to end. Eventually Mr. Acecudgles stopped sobbing and made his way out of the office. He wandered down the halls, not having a particular destination until he found himself down in the early storage room of the fort. Where a crude leatherworkshop had been built. On a whim, Mr. Acecudgles gave it a kick. It felt good, so he gave it another kick. Then another and another until soon Mr. Acecudgles was tearing the shop apart with his bare hands screaming his hatred of this fort and his lot in life. Eventually there was no more anger in his lungs and no shop left to dismantle. Only a lonely dwarf crying again in the night.

"Oh, I see you finally got around to tearing the old workshop down." The voice cause Mr. Acecudgles to jump. It was Crispin, the metalsmith. "The work order to tear it down 'sbeen up for a month but no one wanted to press you on the matter. Anyhow, it looks like you were pretty thorough in your dismantling. There's only some rocky rubble left."

"I, uh, yeah. thanks" Mr. Acecudgles responded. Neither dwarf is a conversational one, so they just look at each other. The two dwarves stand there, letting the silence say for them, how awkward they're feeling about it.

Crispin is the first to break the silence. "Listen, I won't tell anyone about your little temper tantrum and perhaps one day you can help me with a certain situation I'm supposed to deal with here."

"I- uhm. sure." The nervous and shy dwarf responds, the moment passed the two go there separate ways. One, finally to bed and the blissful escape of a dreamless sleep and the other to work, searching for something.



No more pictures from winter worth taking. Although more dwarf developments have occurred, I'm drawing those out a bit more as the events of poor Mr. Acecudgles the BTI Rep dominated the fortress gossip. I was having a difficult time getting Lęgan to hold his meeting at the beginning of winter and the Rep wouldn't do anything but follow her around until she would. When they finally did hold the meeting the Rep only felt worse about the whole affair and spent the rest of the winter in the food stores drinking until he walked back up for another meeting, carrying his beer barrel with him. As soon as the meeting started though, he picked it up, dropped it off and came back. This time he cried, felt better and immediately knocked over one of the shops I had set to be removed.


Let me know if BTI Rep Acecdugles is too confusing to follow due to all the ways I refer to him. It's just something of a mouthful either way and calling him BTI Rep when speaking doesn't seem to flow naturally.

[TheMirth]

Exploratory Mining shaft 16f
Thjald gazed at the stone. Peering into it Thjald could read the history of the mountain. How once where he stood now, there was not cold stone but the hot flowing lifeblood of the planet. Magma. That was many ages ago and now only cold obsidian remained. He took aim with his pick, striking dead center into the wall. His aim is poor and the angle of his pick off, sending most of the force back up the handle causing him to drop it. “Curses.”

“What was that Greenhorn? The rock jump out and bite you? Har, Har!” Thjald heard from down the cavern halls, followed by the raucous laughter of several other dwarves. Thjald sighed, picked up his hammer and tried again. His life belonged to the rock, the stone, the mountain. He felt at peace deep within these lonely caverns when the rest took off. Thjald absentmindedly ran his finger under his cap and through his dark thick hair. The stone wall lay before Thjald like an ancient riddle waiting for him to solve it.

Nokzamkulal the first Year, Limestone
The Beloved swamps
Thjald gazed at the stone. It’s future was plain for the dwarf to see, stacked amongst the pile beside the new wall. Above him the fort’s manager and now self styled architect was messing about on a stone platform they had constructed, discussing bridge plans with the old mason. The stone’s color looked wrong to Thjald. Under the bright light of the sun the stone all looked  like a pale,  washed imitation of the stone he knew as microline  to his experienced eyes. He watched the fort’s inhabitants working the line, hefting bits of rock and stone onto the shoulders and nestled in amongst the rest of the mountain orphans in their new home in the wall. Mortar and plaster joining them together where once they had needed none. Torn from their homes and forced into a world they’d never asked to join. Thjald let the microline drop from his hands so he could heft his pick back onto his shoulder. He had more mining for Ms. Lęgan to finish or this whole wall ’ll be for naught.

Exploratory Mining shaft 22c
Clink, Clink, Clink, Crack. Clink, Clink, Clink, Crack. The music of the earth falling before him set Thjald’s face in a near permanent grin. Clink, clink, clink, Crack. Since the other dwarves had left for the day Thjald had been making excellent time. Clink, Clink, CRACK. Thjald’s pick faltered and he adjusted his balance. That last crack didn’t sound like stone. Tracing his steps back up his tunnel towards the sound he began to hear muffled cries.
“Allroit, now that I’ve got yer attention. Are those pretty lips of yers gonna start singing or are ye genna need some more convincin’?” At the crosstunnel, stood a broad dwarf holding a jewel encrusted hammer , the Hammerer’s symbol, standing over a dwarf in purple and yellow clothing. The dwarf on the ground was clutching his leg where his shinbone stuck out from his leg, great arcs of blood careening across the cave and splashing against the wall.

“Nghhh, I-I’m sorry. I’ll tell you, nggjhhh” The dwarf moaned before his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed backwards onto the floor.  Thjald moved to hide back in his tunnel, not wanting to get involved in any business of the Hammerer’s. Unfortunately his pick struck the wall getting the Hammerer’s attention.
“Ey! You theah. C’mere.”

Thjald did as he was told, putting himself before the the arbiter of ‘justice’ as it was known in dwarfdom. “Aye, what do you want? Ser.”

“Fix that leg up of his. I’m not den questionin’ him jes yet.” The hammerer motioned to the bleeding and unconscious dwarf before finding himself a good comfortable seat.

“I’m afraid I’m no surgeon ser. Best, let me go call someone else.” Thjald moved to escaped from this situation slowly backing away towards the exit tunnel. He was stopped by the Hammerer raising his symbol of authority. No words were needed, that symbol meant the dwarf could break both thjalds arms and not make a single excuse as to why he’d done it. If Thjald, on the other hand raised a hand to defend himself, he’d likely be sent into the fort’s chasm. There was no way out but to accept your lumps in life to a dwarf.

“Theah, that’s betteh. Now, no sense in worryin about none of that fancy steff. Jes, reach down there and pull that leg back straight.” Ordered Thjald’s taskmaster. Thjald dropped to his knees and place a hand on each side of the wounded dwarf’s legs. “That’s roight. Now, go ahead and jes pull that seckeh’s foot till that shin bone gets back undeh his skin weah it belongs.” Bracing himself mentally, Thjald licked his lips once, closed his eyes and then pulled. Scritch, scritch, scritch…

Nokzamkulal the first Year, Limestone
Thjald’s quarters.
 “Nghhyeargh!” yelled Thjald, bolting upright in his bed. He was here. His wiry frame shivered from the cold sweat he’d broke into. There was no bodies, there were no screams. He was somewhere else now. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of his room. It was empty, besides his pick leaning against the bed there was not but rock pebbles in strewn over his rough carved floor. It was no royal quarters but he’d been happy. A soft knocking rapped against his door. Thjald wiped the sweat from his brow before calling for his vistor to come in.

“Are you allright Thjald?” Betsy, she stood in his doorway concerned as ever. As sweet as she was round. “I thought maybe you’d fallen or one of Mr. Acecudgles’ monsters had got you.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I just dreamt I was in a cave in is all.”

“Oh, how horrid! Have you ever been in a cave in?”

“Hrm? Oh yes. Of course when you’ve been in the tunnels as long as I have, you’re bound to be the victim of some poor noble or another.” Thjald’s voice caught on that last bit.

“Oh, look at how cold you must be! You thin little dwarf, you’ll get the whole fortress sick if you don’t take better care of yourself. The way you’ve been carving off the slopes of the valley in the rain you’d think you were part fish.”

Thjald chuckled, but let the round one tuck a blanket over his shoulders. It felt somewhat safer to be with the living than his own thoughts just now, without a cave to tunnel. “Well, if you’re going to try and keep me up all night well I best make the best use of the time. Cave ins you said? Yes now let me tell you how to listen to mountain’s complaining before she drops a ceiling of pain on your head. Mm-hrmmm.”

Betsy listened to the old dwarf ramble on but the way the rock tells stories and speaks to a miner who’ll just listen as she fed him bits of marmot biscuits she’d made just this week. But in truth she didn’t hear any of it. She was too enthralled by his great bushy white beard, the sort any dwarf could wrap around themselves for hours.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[Haika]

Makes sense, them both being miners(mostly).

Also I must say, I love your updates. I wish I could write like that, lately all I can do is get the journal lists going and keep them interesting.

[TheMirth]

Nokzamkulal the first Year, 3rd Granite
The Beloved swamps
Megrom Surprisetondgues moves silently through the bushes towards her prey. She had been very careful sneaking into their fortress. A stone wall had been erected in front of the swamp valley, if it hadn't been there she may not have even found them. Her people had demanded that she lead her group into dwarven lands and find what valuables they may have. She had been crawling through their walled in forest for a day, trying to divine a way up to their catwalk pathways when she heard a dwarf. Now she saw that dwarf before her, a stout fellow wading hip deep into a pond, every now and then the dwarf would dip his beard into the water "here, fishy, fishy fishy!" Megrom wish she had been in the pond herself such that she could pull him down to see what a real battle with fish could feel like but she was behind him with no clear approach to the water. Carefully, Megrom snuck towards the unaware dwarf, gripping the hilt of her iron dagger, she would slit his throat and bring his cloak back as proof that a settlement was built here.

Nokzamkulal Entrance
Thjald was muttering to himself about the lunacy of digging from the outside in. Lęgan had heard his report there was a surface vein of copper exposed in the mountainside in their new ‘courtyard’. She had ordered it dug out but instead of digging in from the mountain she just wanted it dug out from the outside. A real lack of mountain appreciation in that one. It was this that caused him to look to the heavens in exasperation, just in time to see a Skalassi rogue clinging to the ceiling.

“Alarm! Intruders!” Thjald yelled, dropping the copper ore he carried.

“Muspla.” The rogue croaked as it dropped to the ground, thinking to escape into the fortress the creature swung open the fortress entrance and rushed in.

THUNK, a head sized chunk of felsite dropped on the creatures foot. “HISS”

Thjald rushed forward with his pick at the ready “ALARM, ALARM!”  With after a quick count to three, Thjald lowered a perfectly aimed pick strike to the creatures hurt, cutting the creature’s curses short.

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The Beloved swamps
Megrom stalked perfectly quiet, years in the swamps hunting for food had trained her movements to be undetectable to cave dwellers like dwarfs. When she was nearly within striking distance, the dwarf moved. “HA! Got one ya slimy bugger” Up into the air sailed the yellowfin, flung from the fisherdwarfs beard, it landed directly in front of of Megrom.

 “Ah, what do we have here?” Murdergrin’s aptly named smile spread across the dwarf’s face. “A wee bit of sport it looks like.” He pulled loose his axe and stepped towards his opponent.

Megrom, paused. The evil she lived with in her swamps seldom made as eager a face when approached. Still her duty bound her to bring treasure back to the motherswamp. She lifted her dagger and charged the dwarf.

THUNK.

With one quick strike with his axe, Murdergrin sent her toppling forward as her leg separated from her body.

“Now, this’ll only hurt as long as you’re alive.” Murdgrin said as he placed one boot on Megrom’s head, the pain and shock of her lost log prevented her from realizing what was happening. Murdergrin, for his part took careful aim on the beast, a missed strike and he wouldn’t get another chance.

THWAK, the axedwarf hit the creature with all his might with the flatside of his Axe. “A swing, and a bloody package for our mother mountain!” Megrom’s last feeling was that of flying through the air again, as she had when she was a little hopper in the swamp. Her legs refuse to respond to her demands though. This time she would not break her fall with the strong legs of her kind. She saw her destination, a dark cavern of copper ore carved out of the mountain. Just as she began to utter the prayers  to her dark gods he head was crushed by the entrance wall.

“Blast, just missed.”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Nokzamkulal Entrance

Thjald was resting on his pick, letting his heart catch up with him when in the corner of his eye he spotted a kobold slide up from the underside of the bridge. “You’ll not get away from me ya bloody dog.” Thjald yelled, raising his pick to strike. The creature backed away making a feint with its copper dagger. Thjald, overestimating the creature’s distance dodged the left. Off the bridge. “Blast.”

The kobold blinked. The crotchety dwarf had disappeared. Perhaps his dagger was magic? The sound of more dwarfs sent him running for escape before testing the theory though.

Seconds after the kobold’s escape, Murdergrins made his way up the ramp. “Thjald? I thought I heard you GYAHH!” Another Skallassi jumped out at the dwarf, hopping past him. Grabbing his axe Murdergrins gave chase, cutting another leg off. The leg severed with such force it struck Murdergrins in the chest, stunning him. The creature gurgled beneath him. “Ah well let’s see how many pieces of meat you’re made out of.” Murdergrins whispered in the creature’s ear as it floundered on the ground. “One” off came a hand. “Two” an arm at the shoulder flopped to the ground.

“Murdgerins! What’re you doing?” Thjald yelled, as he brushed himself off the ground and came across the macabre scene.

“Oh just a wee bit of fun to break up the day.” Murdergrins responded, lopping off the other arm.

“Just kill it and get it over with. The thing’s blood is probably poisonous.”

“How bouts you give me one of your precious Betsy’s special biscuits for a week if I can make that pond from here.”

“Yes, yes, fine just kill it, I don’t want to be seeing blue blood tracked all over the fort.”

With another whack with the side of his Axe, Murdergrins sent the creature flying.

“Hrmmph.” Was all the Axedwarf declared watching it come to a sliding stop just in front of the pond.

“Looks, like I’ll be getting your dessert rations for the week after all.”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[sev]

oh, very nice.  You're capturing the sheer pathos that is the life of a dwarf in this game and giving reasons to care about the characters, too.  More, please!

[Eagle]

This is amazing, every character has their own quirks, and that makes them memorable (i especially like Murdergrin's bets  ). Keep up the good work!

[TheMirth]

Glad you're enjoying the story. Sorry about the lack of proofreading, this is sort've an exercise of getting myself to stop worrying about perfection and just produce. If things turn out well enough I'll come back and clean everything up sometime.

Nokzamkulal the first Year, Late Winter
Nokzamkulal courtyard, The Beloved swamps.

The weatherd mason applied a bit more plaster to the edges of the stone with his trowel, careful not to disrupt the stones around it before it could dry. "I'm just about finished with this one Lęgan, how's the next coming?"

"Hrmm? Oh fine, once you get this next bridge connected we'll make a ninety degree turn off the last support column. That one we'll have to build columns since it will be a drawbridge."

"Wait, wait, wait. There's not enough room. Listen, I'm not the engineer here but a drawbridge isn't like a retracting bridge, you need to rest it on solid ground. And if that solid ground is where some poor sap's standing he'll get crushed."

"Well just build some support flooring for it then, you're the mason here I trust you to actually build the support."  the irritation in Lęgan's voice showed she wasn't in the mood for the Mason's wisdom today. Not that she was ever.

"If we do that we'll be pushing back construction for two more weeks, just make it a retracting bridge-"

"The defenses won't work if it's a retracting bridge you boulder breathed dwarf. Urist McStonewall's theory of separation and isolation make it clear you can't hope to break an enemies morale if you contain them in one location."

"Bah! Your books aren't the ones who'll starve if we don't get these bridges done before spring."

"Well since you're so concerned with getting things done on time, why don't you check the northeastern wall over the barrier blockade? And since you seem to have enough time to voice your opinion on everything I assume that means you've finished up that order of coffers for the bedrooms I asked for?" Lęgan had rolled up her bridge plans and was using them as a makeshift sword, poking the mason in the chest as she began to list off her litany of demands at him. The dwarf had closed her ears off to him again and now was using her blasted seal as an excuse to ignore him once more. Ever since she'd received the official papers giving the site's charter to her she'd been even less reasonable than usual. She'd lock herself in her office going over the fort's stocks or start making job mandates that everyone had to pitch in and share. She'd been acting like a right proper leader for once, if only she'd listen to his advice every now and then. But he'd have to try some other time, she'd put on her vindictive face and any more suggestions would only lead to more useless job orders.

Kuletzon, ten years before the founding of Nokzamkulal
Craftshop Quarter

"Please Sheriff, I di'n't mean to harm no one." Cog Paddlewheeled pleaded to the stalwart dwarf before him.

"I reckon you didn't Cog. But you killed Urist's pet yak, whether you meant to or not." the Sheriff responded in his softest voice, like a single rock clamoring down the mountain as opposed to his usual sound of boulders colliding.

"It-it wasn't like I meant it, it's just when I heard that Ishum had thrown my masterpiece idol into the chasm I, I just lost all control. It's the only mastwork I'd made and now it's gone!"

"Well, Ishum will be paying his dues as well Cog. But if you don't take your lumps now, Urist'll be taking his frustration out on you, perhaps your whole workshop gets knocked down while you're inside. No, you've broken the Fortress Pact Owen, do your dwarfly duty and stand there like the sturdy dwarf I know ye to be."

Cog closed his eyes and wrapped his hands into fists. "Allright, just don't hurt my hands, I'll be needing them if I'm to ever make another masterpiece idol."

"They land where they land Cog." was the Sheriff's response as he threw the first punch. Cog took the beating from his hamlet's gravel-voiced sheriff with stoicism. It didn't improve his mood much but he didn't feel the urge to get into trouble again.


Nokzamkulal, One Year since it's founding.
Dining Hall

Lęgan addressed the crowd of seven before her, the six she'd arrived with as well as the lone survivor of the Baron's reinforcement immigrants. "It's been one year since we've arrived here dwarfs. One year and we haven't suffered any casualties despite the dangers of this place."

"No casualties? w-w-well what about Feb, and Oleary and the rest o' them who didn't make it?" BTI Rep Acecudgles meekly said.

" I recognize your concern Representative but you're the only one who actually made it to our fort, Myself and the rest of us here aren't bound to protect the roads until we've reached city size. Since you've made it here you've been well protected representative and we appreciate your contribution to the wall." With his concerns dismissed the Representative sat down, only to himself did he mutter about no effort being made to even bury his friend.

"If there are no more comments, then lets get back to the concerns at hand. We have beenhere for one year. We have defended our territory and our goods against hostile intrusions of horrid Skalassi and infesting kobolds. Even I, the fort manager have raised fist to our defenses. We have made good on the trust given to us to making a foothold for the dwarven king." Lęgan paused here, gathering the mood of the crowd. Thjarn and Betsy sat beside each other but their proximity only heightened how different in mood and appearence they were. Where Thjarn was wizened and weathered Betsy was youthful and fresh. Thjarn was angular and sharp eyed, a dwarf who focused like an arrow on one task. Betsey was round and wide eyed, absorbing the beauty of that around her all while handling a multitude of different tasks at once. Betsy looked on with her cheerful demeanor while Thjarn remained noncommittal, he wasn't a dwarf to raise a fuss but he wouldn't feign enthusiasm where there was none.
 The rest of the dwarves at the dining table were distinct as well. Their hayseed farmer seemed somewhere far off, idly sucking on a straw of cave wheat she'd been planting. Her attitude wasn't odd she'd kept to herself most of the time since they'd been here, usually forgotten down in the farms tilling away at the soil. Crispin was alert as ever, he'd been a large help to Lęgan's designing of the bridges. While he wasn't as well read on Urist McStonewall he'd had a bit more experience with complex mechanics and structural integrity. Often Lęgan would go to him with her ideas to talk things through before building began, sometimes he'd come back a day later and explain where some idea wouldn't work and the design would need to be remade but this was the only dwarf who knew how much Lęgan was struggling with her composure, at least she hoped. The gravelvoiced mason sat with his arms crossed, withholding any appearances of disagreement but he'd voice some complaint by the end she didn't doubt. Murdergrin was his usual pleased self. His ever present smile no real indication of warmth but he'd been an enthusiastic supporter of most things, finding their problems all as some sick joke. Mr. Acecudgles looked his usual miserable self, seated away from the rest of the dwarves and nervously picking at his fingernails. It was as good of a crowd of support as she was likely to get.

“So with the passing of the year I need to have an official citizenship list to report to the Mountainhome.”  So far so good thought Lęgan. “Now, the list won’t be so difficult as there are only a handful of us here but as for what we call ourselves, I’ve decided to bring that to table since we all came here under somewhat surprising circumstances. To start off I thought I’d suggest Ud Ottan, The Will of Minds.” Now for the reaction.

Suprisingly it was murdergrin, the dwarf who cared the least about all the official business and job orders that had passed through the fort over the previous year. “The Will of Minds? What sort’ve elf loving livery will we be supping from? Next you’ll be saying that we’re to cut meat from our stew and rely on the long eared lads to supply our wood.”

“If you have a better suggestion, feel free to bring it to the table. Otherwise I think my name, as suggested shows how we’ve overcome the obstacles set before us and that through sensible decisions-“

“Hrumph. You mean your sensible decisions” Gravelvoice interrupted. “You’ve not taken a bit of consideration into how to run thins since we’ve got here. It’s your world here, might as well call it Lęgan's Thralldom.” The cynical dwarf offered with a smirk.

“Oooh, I like that actually. Lęgankordam, The Mirthful Cosmos, I like that actually. A group of friendly and full dwarves feasting and joking in their mountainhall.” Betsy burst out, giddy with her suggestion.

An elbow in the ribs later, Thjald spoke up. “Ow, woman, watch yourself. Ahem. I nominate Lęgankordam for consideration.”

“HA! Yes what better way to describe ourselves to those who’ve never been here than as a bunch of easy going rum runners. No need to mention the bloodthirsty beasties looking to sup on whomever’s daft enough to fall for it Hahaha, I’ll second that nomination.” Murdergrins bellowed, his laughter much to loud for someone appreciating their own joke.

“Very well, let’s take it to a vote. All those in favor, say aye.”

Thjald, Betsy, Murdergrins and Hayseed spoke as one “Aye”

“All those opposed”

“Nay, twas a joke, we’re not here to deify the expedition leader, you’re just a dwarf like the rest of us Lęgan.” Gravelvoice pleaded to the others.

“Nay” Came Mr. Acecudgles muttered, barely audible to the rest but his bitter face was loud enough.

“Very well the-“

“Nay” Crispin interrupted Lęgan, knocking her off her stride.

“Uhm, what was that Crispin? I uhm, wasn’t ready to record your vote. Aye was it?”

Crispin looked as plain and unemotional as he ever did. “I said nay.”

“SO it’s three to four with your manager vote available and acting tiebreaker. So what’ll it be Lęgan, you going to vote yourself as god of the mountain and have us grovel at your feet?” The cynical mason said in as sarcastic a tone as his voice would allow.

“Oh shut your mouth, it’s nothing of the sort!” Responded Betsy. “Lęgan’s done a fine job here and a little fun with names won’t hurt anyone. Isn’t that right’ Lęgan?”

Lęgan pursed her lips, thinking of a response. While it wasn’t a clear vote against herself she had assumed that Crispin wouldn’t actively vote against her in council. The response was easy enough to retort but where the dwarves allegiances and intents lay was something she now had to reconsider. “As it is my name being discussed, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to vote on the matter, therefore I abstain.” Betsy clapped, Murdergrins laughed and their mason groaned and threw his hands up in exasperation. Crispin gave his usual face of approval when she brought an idea to him, curious.

“Very well meeting adj-“

CRASH, the sound of the fortress’s front door echoed through the hallway cutting the responses short.

“Intruders!” Thjald urged, lifting his pick to readiness, Mudergrins let out a chuckle of excitement.

“But how? The bridges haven’t connected to the outside yet, I’m still pla-“ Lęgan thought outloud.

“No time lass, pull the lever on the main bridge, cut off whoever’s coming in!” the mason shouted.

Mr. Acecudgles, was the first to reach the lever yanking it backward with all his might.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?”
“Hush, if it’s a trap you’re only giving away our –GYAH!”

Murdergrin pulled his axe up at the last second as the dwarf stepped into the dining room.

“Great” the raspy voice of the fort’s mason muttered. “migrants.”

So ends Nokzamkulal’s first year of existence and begins their second year.

More pictures coming for the next update as Nokzamkulal learns to cope with supplying a couple dozen gem setters and cheesemakers with food and board. Lęgan is updated on the Baron’s wishes and the rest of the founders begin to earnestly try to shape their Nokzamkulal adventure to their own purposes.

[TheMirth]

In my dark hour I seek your comfort to sooth me…


The dining hall was a maelstrom of activity. The citizens of the fort were arguing over whether to greet them, kick them out or just send them over the hill to the welcoming committee. Betsy was having none of it. She brushed her cook’s apron off and greeted the newcomers. “Oh, look how skinny you are! You must not have eaten in ages, here I have some of these after meeting snacks.” Betsy began handing out the treats she'd made, breaking apart what had been for seven into smaller pieces for the crowd to each of the immigrants in line, it wasn’t until she got to the fort entrance and run out of food that their number hit her. “My goodness how many of you are there?”

A dirty dwarf with rags for clothes looked up from his mud stained hands “Mr. Anvilpuddle says we’re more than a baker’s bushel ma’am”

“Good mountainhome, that bridge trap will crush them!” Declared Legan, hurrying past the fort cook. The rest of the citizenry rushed behind, hurrying to see what disaster the traps Legan been building were doing.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

“Bloody Armok!”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

“Good grief”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

“What is it, I don’t see anything”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

“That’s because there isn’t anything to see.”

“It didn’t work. It didn’t bloody work!”

“Oh hooray! They’re all safe.”

Then the squabbling returned but Betsy paid them no mind. She had the fort’s hayseed farmer and BTI REP begin bringing up food and dwarf rum for the disheveled looking migrants. Over the next few weeks Betsy spent more and more of her time in the kitchen then in the tunnels with Thjald. What began as a warm feeling of nurturing the refugees, soon became a bothersome chore of feeding and cleaning unwelcome guests.


In your wisdom I realize my foe.

 

“Gravelvoice, you insubordinate lazy rabblerouser. I told you over a month ago to seal that northeastern barricade. If it had been the Cyclopes instead of the migrants we’d all be dwarf roast now.” Lęgan screamed, papers braking free from her grasp as she struck them against the mason.

“My name’s not Gravelvoice, it’s-“ the mason attempted, doing his best to weather the storm.

“I don’t care if it’s Urist McogBrilliantson! You’re bloody voice nagging me of this and that while I’m trying to work these bridges is all I could think about instead of actually doing any work. “ The storm was subsiding, the fort’s leader had a quick tongue but when she wasn’t up to implementing one of her theories or doing her management work she’d often just leave the issue at rest once her venting was done. Right now she was frustrated and angry; she was also simply stumped on what to do with their current situation.


“You’ve been making so many work orders for me left and right. You’ve got so many tasks for me to get done it takes more time for me to look over them all than it would be for me to even get started. Lastly, you could have any dwarf stack some stone together and make a wall but you can’t trust a dwarf with no experience to build a secure load bearing bridge. Not if you don’t want it to fall apart on the first wagon that comes through.” The silence that greeted the mason’s retort encouraged him to go further. “Listen, there’s a lot of dwarves that are needing you inside now. We’ve got over thirty here in the fort now and most of them that shown up are sleeping on the ground and leaving a mess wherever they go. None of’em that come have any skills either. It’s a bunch of milkers, dyers, gem setters and worse that’re leeching off our work. “ Still, Lęgan didn’t respond. “There’s an order to dwarf life and without work and without someone to tell them that work a dwarf starts to question himself. Once that starts happening you get all sorts've trouble." The mason's words still elicited no response from the fort's leader. "Lęgan, the problems we're about to have need fixin. We've got dwarves stacked in the hallways sleeping and cluttering up the paths to our stockpiles. Our booze stocks are getting low. You need to start implementing some law and order before things begin to escalate."

 

Lęgan finally responds by scribbling something on a piece of paper and handing it to the mason. "Your services in the couryard wont be needed here, I'll handle the bridge work from now on. As for you, here's a list of things for you to be keeping busy over."

 

Coffers. A job order for more bloody coffers.


With your vision I find my quarry …

 

It was the whining that got to Thjald. It was one thing to lose your home it was another all together to lay around your new one complaining about. Being forced to stand in the dining room to eat his meal was the final straw for him. Thjald began to dig. He had mined out enough copper to keep Crispin and his new crew busy for months and Thjald wasn't about to wait around to be told to dig out more of the metal from the other end of the valley courtyard. Twas not the dwarven way to scratch away at the surface of the mountain. So Thjald had found his way deep in to the mountains. It was better here, dark. There were no whining freeloading dwarfs complaining about a lack of milk to curdle or a lack of maggots to milk. No, here the only one who spoke to him was the mountain. It had been whispering him to some time now. This mountain had much to tell, it was just waiting for a dwarf to listen. So listen Thjald did, with pick in hand he'd chatter back. Clink, Clink, Clink, Clank. Crumble. Clink, Clink, Clink Clank. Crumble. They had been conversing for days when the Mountain let slip a secret, it had guests who shared this place with the dwaves.

 

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 

Thjald felt his hand on the rock, the cool moistness warning of what lay beyond. He rushed back to tell the others. As he left a tiny explorer crept from a fissure opened by the dwarf. Eight small legs begin spinning webs in the new tunnel, for dwarves weren't the only ones looking to expand their homes.




…and with your cunning trap him.

 

Things had been going smoothly for Crispin. He had waited until proper workshops could be built and his value unquestioned before pressing the issue. He now had a furnace, smelter and forge in close proximity with appropriate storage facilities to keep them running at near enough capacity. When he had first constructed his work hall it had been only him working it, and it took time. This didn't bother Crispin for each coal he compressed burnt long and well, each ore smelted was pure and even, he could then proceed with creating the goods that were closest to a dwarve's heart, fine metal goods. Of course this fort was still too young to spare any ore for anything trivial as trinkets or goods. For only metal could make dwarven weapons and armor. He had allready begun the work to create a copper suit of chain mail to dust the cob webs off and present as a prototype to the manager Lęgan when the refugees had arrived. They were dirty, hungry and scared. Not sent here searching for good fortune in the mountain but running from the wreckage of their prior forts. The goblins had taken a settlement to the south and these twenty four dwarves had fled north, not thinking to find a settlement in the valley but seeking shelter within when they noticed the design to be dwarf in style. Among the rabble who now clogged Nokzamkulal's halls Crispin had found a fair amount of men he could put to work. A blacksmith and metalcrafter who, through their own specialized work learned the basics of forge work, could be put to use making charcoal and smelting the ore. There product was amateurish and inferior to his own processes but if Crispin were to achieve his goals he would need dwarves who could work for him. That meant they had to learn, and when better to learn than when there was nothing better than copper to work with. Crispin had also found an armorsmith and had set up a schedule of sharing the forge, both creating a set of copper chain now. Crispin to return his hands and arms to their previous form after years away from the anvil and the other dwarf so that Crispin had an idea of how capable he was. The Hammerdwarf's Hall is what the others had begun to call it and it was the cleanest section of the fort, free from the rabble who lounged without work and work materials neatly stored and sorted in nearby storerooms. Crispin may not have been a mechanist by trade but his men worked as close to clockwork as any engineer's.


I will aim my life like an arrow…

 

Misery surrounded him. Children played in the halls, keeping him up at night. Old men coughed on him as he tried to eat in the dining hall that had seemed so large and empty just a few months ago. Though Mr. Acecudgles had his own room, he had no privacy. Lęgan had begun a policy of fort improvements as a way of busying things. The old mason had suggested they help build the bridges but Lęgan had responded to that in the same way she responded to his concerns that these new migrants had begun doing all the jobs he used to do. Annoyed dismissal. Mr. Acecudgles had tried to bring up the idea of maybe making an effort to get some leather that he could stitch together for a report back the company but was only told that they had two pieces left and he could make bags if he wanted but that a report would be too wasteful. None of the others he had come to know at the fort had time to talk with him anymore. Betsy had found herself giving up her pick and working in the kitchen making stew for the new abundance of mouths to feed. She had also taken up residence in the fishery, gutting and cleaning fish that Murdergrins and the other fishmongers the refugees had brought with him. For their part, the refugees had no interest in talking to the meek leatherworker, they had brought their friends with them and he the leatherworker had no real position or authority to provide work for them either.

 

It was not without some irony that Mr. Acecdugles realized that as the fort got more crowded, that he became lonelier. Whether it was the anger of his predicament or simply the spirit that set upon dwarves as they began to crowd together but that night BTI Representative had decided he had had enough. That hour he stormed out of his room and marched to the craft hall, knocking the much busier crafters out of his way. He'd show them. He'd show everyone in the fort what true craftdwarfship was. He quickly began sketching his plans and carving up templates for his work. When he was satisfied of the designs he rushed through the fort gathering the material's he'd need. For two nights Mr. Acecudgles sewed, notched and pressed, seeing further and deeper into his craft than he ever had before. Then he was done. He rushed out into the hallway where he near collided with the Mason. The stern dwarf stared him down, carefully looking the dwarf over as if looking for a pair horns that may have grown out of his head while he'd been in there. "Well, you don't look ready to punch me, nor eat your own fist so have out with it. What've you made Representative?"

The gruff demand took some of the wind out the leatherworkers sails. "I've made. THIS!" he declared, proudly holding his creation before him.

 

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 

"Mobbedoused the Dominant Savage" the Leatherworker stated with a note of self satisfaction.

 

"Aye, tis a fine piece of leather to hold an arrow in." Mr. Acecudgles was hoping for a bit more from the mason. "I don't suppose this means you've used up the rest of the leather does it?"

 

The meek leatherwork merely nodded and slouched away, leaving his masterwork in the hands of the other dwarf. What did it matter anyhow, no one would appreciate his artistic vision here. So the dwarf returned to his room and slept, the sound of bratty children dwarves didn't keep him up that night. Mr. Acecudgles slept soundly dreaming of all the new ways that he could now transcribe the events of the fortress with leather.

 

…and my target its purpose.

 

"I give!" shouted the dwarf beneath him.

 

Murdergrin held the grip a moment longer, "a gobbo wouldn't listen to your please for mercy scab." With one smooth motion, Murdergins stood up and straightened the recruit out underneath him. "You're flailing your arms about trying to hit me, but if you have no weapon, a solid blow with your fist isn't going to harm anything wearing armor. Now next time I want to you try and grab onto a limb."

 

"Yes sir." the recently recruited peasant said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a glove he'd pulled from Murdergrins's hand.

 

"Now go get some rest, we're done for the day." The bulky dwarf declared. Murdergrin liked it here. Sure the fort had its downside, you could end up as so much cyclopes waste if you wandered out around the mountains but what purpose would any dwarf have wandering about in a monster filled forest like some namby pamby elf? No, his life here at Nokzamkulale was good. It was no life on the sea but it was a good place to start over. It was different for him, to see things from the side of building a dwarf city up instead of simply visiting or residing inside one. HE felt he liked it. He certainly had more of a say of how he'd spend his time with these fellows than the noble's he'd put up with the past. Chopping wood with his axe one day, fishing for the lighter fare of freshwater fish the next. Now he even got to spend days working out some of the peasants since Lęgan had seen fit to build a barracks as a temporary sleeping quarters for the refugees. It was a good feeling, soon the rest of these dwarves'd be busy doing his work for him and he'd be able to pick out the men he wanted to train with. He'd be back to having his own crew in no time at all.

 

The strength of the ancients steel my heart…

 

Lęgan 15th Malachite, Our Second Year at Nokzamkulal

Despite the arrival of our new inhabitants here at Nokzamkulal I have recieved no word from the Baron. His promises of updating me are probably more manipulative than a sign that he's out of favor in the mountainhome. It had been with some surprising disappointment that I had learned that none of the immigrants were from the mountainhome. Struggles with the goblins have flared up again and razed a budding expedition in the West. Their arrival at our fort was a mere coincidence. I had agreed to offer food and hospitality to the rag tag group's leader, considering their sorry state of hunger and thirst but I had also hoped the absence of a formal offer of citizenship would've been noticed. Whether he had picked up on it or not, by the third week I realized they had no plan for moving on. We have done the best we can with keeping the dwarves close to their own professions, trying to utilize Dastoth Ricogian's theory of labor specialization. Thus cheesemakers and plant dye workers were put assigned work helping Hayseed the farmer with food production, Crispin had allready filtered the metalworkers out and the fisherdwarfs needed no special orders to begin making use of our supply ponds in the walled courtyard. Craftsdwarfs were sent to help create bonecrafts and other trade goods, freeing up the ol' mason to focus on furnishings for the new rooms. Thjald's been busy digging away in the mountain and the truth is I'm rather glad as we'll be needing a better vein of ore to keep our now large labor pool of metalworkers. I have given orders to the rest of the dwarves to begin smoothing out the dining room to keep them busy.

 

Lęgan 1st Limestone, Our Second Year at Nokzamkulal

 

I was working on the bridge leading out over our protective wall when I heard the cries. They looked like rat men scurrying against the wall, faces muddy from drinking water in stagnant pools and the remains of vermin they had eaten raw caught in their beards. A small group of men had arrived sometime over the summer but been unable to find a way in without the bridge finished. That cursed gravevoiced mason had me diverting labor from my bridges to deal with the problems in the fort. The whole mess was entirely not a problem with hayseed working full time on the farms I divvied out there shouldn't have been any need for extra growing and brewing. However the stocks hadn't lied for whatever reason we were dreadfully short on booze and plants. *(Note: check to see if one of the refugees ahs been hiding away booze for barter since he's arrived. Sounds like the sort've thing I would try in their situation)

 

I have decided to forgo the raised arch and cross over bridges for expedience. I must have a link to the outside world before the caravan arrives with possible word from the Baron. It is our good luck that one of the dwarfs trapped outside is a mason, I have ordered a stack of felsite dumped over the walls so that he can help join the bridge to wall outside.

 

Lęgan 10th Limestone, Our Second Year at Nokzamkulal

 

We have nearly finished the final steps of the bridge to the outside pillar. It is with great haste that I've been rushing these past few days for the dwarves outside have begun to act as miserable as they look. I have tried to keep their spirits up as best as I can, encouraging their mason as he builds the support necessary to reach our raised platform. Tomorrow they should arrive, according to my log the caravan from the mountainhome should be here any day as well. Thjald has also brought good news, he has found stone damp with water and fungus deep in the mountain. This means we have may have a karst. I would often relax on the rocks beside the river flowing through the mountainhome caverns. If I sat long enough other dwarves would often come and drop some coins at my feet and tell me their problems in exchange for an inane phrase like "It is the ore within the mountain that builds the home, not the soil around." It would feel good to have fresh water spraying in my face again. It should be a good day to see my work pay off, even if I have had to drop much theory for some practicality.

 

 

… and my spirit loose the arrow.



"My flesh to bone...

For Armok's Throne." The assassin finished her prayer, raising her collar over her face to hide her features. It had been ten years since she made her way from the goblin's tower. Seventeen since she had felt the sack bind her up and take her away from everything she knew. Seven years in a dark tower, some days she would be beaten for the tiniest transgressions others she would be offered praise on how well she had sucked the marrow from the bones of her prey. They were a rough lot but eventually she learned to be among them, follow their way of honor and excel at their penchant for revenge. If she had never heard that voice after she'd been sacked she would have remained with them the rest of her days. It was the voice of one of the dwarves of her town, letting the snatcher walk away for a bit of coin. The voice that drove her to hide in the mud and rain now. The bridge connecting the outsiders would be completed and the outsiders allowed in. She had matched the voice to a face back at the dwarf's mountainhome. It had been crowded and she lost him. After days of scouring the neighborhood she learned his name his job and where the dwarf would be. It had been difficult to hide her work at first but with the fort filled with immigrants she had been able to escape for longer amounts of time. The copper crossbow had been forged by her hands, the bone bolts produced by order of the manager through work forms slipped into the pile. She had practiced slowly over the past year, honing her aim. Now she waited. Her dogs waiting silently by her side, a useful form of cover should things go errant and she forced to flee. The bridge is finally lowered into place and the assassin watches the first dwarf appear over its edge. He is a ghost of a dwarf, more beard then skin. His face so gaunt it is hard to recognize. Another begins rises up the steps, a merchant caravan appearing beside him, careful to keep their pack animals far from the wretched creatures. It's a crowd now on the edge of the bridge the fort leader, refugees and the merchant's liaison. The assassin places the stock to her shoulder, her bolt loaded and line strung. Her eyes narrow as she takes aim, looking for her target. A flurry of motion at the stop of the stairs spooks one of the pack mules sending it charging forwards. There is a panic among the dwarves, the fort leaders head for the entrance, the merchants and refugees scatter to the walls and the courtyard. The assassin follows their glances until she finds the source of the panic. Him, the dwarf in tattered rags has gone wild, he's knocked over someone too slow out of his way and is raging against all who come near.

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Her dogs, sensing the danger charge out to protect their master, not understanding the need to hide their purpose. The dogs fall on the wild dwarf, one grabs on to his arm as the bites into his stomach. The assissin moves swiftly and silently through the brush of the courtyard. She has not yet been spotted. An arrow to the berserker quickly and she can recall her dogs and return to her role in the fortress, waiting for another opportunity. Around the last column she raises her crossbow to where the berserker should have been. In his place their lies only her dogs, heads smashed in. Before she can move he is upon her. His beard fills her vision, the crossbow goes off between them. She loses where the bolt fire but her left hand screams in pain. The berserker moves his body to her other hand gripping and twisting. It is then she sees the fingers in her left hand have been severed by the bowstring. A moment later her right cries out in pain as it is broken. Then he is above her, spittle and foam at his mouth. The madness in his eyes is un ending. The hatred and anger. It is beautiful to the dwarf, and she welcomes her end, embraced by armok's will for blood. Her head cracks against the rocks below, the berserker loses interest in her limp body and moves on to find another.



"Help, Help! There's killer in the courtyard!" Yelled the dwarf as he ran into the barracks. "You have to come, there's madness in the courtyard!"

"Is it goblins?" Murdergrin said finishing a practice swing of his axe with his soldier in training.

"No, it's a dwarf! He's gone mad and there's allready blood! I don't know if it's dwarf but you have to come quick."
Hrmm. Dwarf eh? The recruit and I have worked up a thirst, we'll get outside once we've slated it. As long as one of you refugees haven't stolen it all" With that the the axedwarf let out a laugh and slapped his new recruit on the back, causing the recruit to laugh as well. The alerting dwarf stood agog as they both meandered out into the hall.




Thjald had been trying to find a seat in the dining room when he heard the commotion. The screams and pounding of feet. Without delay he had his pick in hand and rushed for the entrance. It took only a few moments for the sharp eyed dwarf to spot the problem, a mangy wild dwarf was chasing one of the new metalcrafters around the the top wall of the courtyard. With the swiftness of a miner running from a burst waterpool, the dwarf chased after the berserker.

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"RArrhghhh, You won't have me for dinnernernerner. I'll kill you all! There'll be no dwarf stew for you nyayayaya." The berserker yelled as eh cornered the metal dwarf. With a single well placed swing of his pick Thjald ended the rampage. The berserker gurgled blood from his mouth as he looked down into the pick piercing through his chest. Thjald placed his boot on the dwarfs back and pulled his pick free.

"Come on, he'll be hurting no one now." The miner calmy told the frightened refugee, beckoning him to come back home.

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