27th Granite, 354"So how are you today, Cog?" called Frey, leaning back in his cell as sunlight filtered through the gaol's barred windows. As usual, the sergeant refused to speak or acknowledge him. Today he was doing press-ups and stretching while Frey rambled.
"I'm fine too, thank you for asking," said Frey with a smirk. "Isn't the weather lovely today, Cog? It's sunny out." Though Frey received no response to his questioning, the cells were not silent. The three goblin prisoners were casually chatting to one another in their own tongue, apparently unwilling or unable to speak dwarven. Each of the goblins had drawn a set of concentric circles in the dust on their cell floors, using grains of maize from their meal slops to act as markers. Frey had seen goblins play the little game before with pebbles, though he had no understanding of the rules. Sometimes constable Stug would come into the gaol and play for an hour or so on his breaks.
"Seems like fun, doesn't it, Cog?" Frey remarked. "Of course, I'm always a fan of a good puzzlebox myself-"
"Nil," said the sergeant. Frey blinked in surprise.
"Pardon?"
"My name is Nil."
"Well okay then, Nil. Do you enjoy puzzleboxes?" Frey waited for a few moments before it became apparent he was going to receive no further reply.
"Well, perhaps you shall tell me some other day, Nil."
Frey looked up as the gaol door opened. Ascubis wandered in with some bowls of brown chow, mixed with firecaps and boiled agave sprouts, much as usual.
"Scooby, you are the wind beneath my wings," chuckled Frey. "What culinary delicacies has Urgash prepared for us tonight?"
"Give it a rest, Frey," sighed Ascubis. "It's the same slop as every night. Stop calling me that, too."
"Thanks, Scooby." Frey gave the guard a wink and Ascubis rolled his eyes and went to ladling out the slops. When he had left, Frey turned to the sergeant.
"So I notice you prefer the firecaps, Nil. I mean you always eat them first and leave the sprouts til later, and nobody could possibly prefer the chow, so why don't we do a swap? You can have all the firecaps from my bowl and I'll take the sprouts off your hands? Deal?"
Frey reached across the bars for Nil's bowl, but the sergeant grabbed his wrist.
"I leave the sprouts til last," he said slowly, "because I like them." He released Frey's hand.
"Alright," said Frey. "What about the other way around? I'll take the firecaps and you can have my sprouts. Sound good?"
Nil did not respond, but neither did he stop Frey exchanging the contents of the bowls.
"Well, enjoy your meal, Nil."
Frey raised his bowl cheerfully. Nil ignored him.
Sgt Broose's Diary2nd Slate, 354
Received a visit from Lokum today, bearing news both ill and good. His uncle is taking well to healing and has already begun bossing around his nephews at the glass forge, and he brought two baskets of sunset wine and ruinjam, a welcome gift from his aunt, cousin and sister. The ill news is that the sietch received an escaped survivor from Halfmirrors, which according to Dani's translation of the map is the sietch closest to the 'new' settlement of Threepools. The humans had written their equivalent of 'Stone' and the first letter of their word for 'breaker' on the map, so I guess we know where he's holed up.
Stonebreaker's goblins took the sietch and enslaved the inhabitants but additionally brought in a mining crew. According to the survivor, who has stayed on at Catchwater, they are fortifying the sietch as a watchtower. Sounds like Stonebreaker may be planning on digging in at his new home. Understandable, it's near the Cryptic border and right on top of a major trade route. Good access to slaves, conscripts and goods and food for plundering.
I've put in a request with Emerin and the captain to take Jora and Datan to investigate. Khain's still laid up with his injury, though he can walk with it and sometimes comes to watch sparring training or take walks around the town. May be a long time before he can fight with it, though.
3rd Slate, 354Shadows. Even in the draped half-light of the dream, the figures stood out as dull purple shadows distinct from the rest. Three circled him, pacing around the blurry, indistinct form of the mountain's slope. He glanced to his axe, the curve of its sharpened edge glimmering with pure white light amongst the mottled greens and blues. He swung his blade deftly at the first shadow, but it dodged to the left, its bladed arm swinging close by his face. A second shadow lunged at him, but he brought up his shield to deflect the blow, its silvery surface flaring with brilliant light as he deflected it. He ducked and dodged the shadows' strokes, their bladed limbs gleaming with violet strobes as they swung, until the third shadow left itself open. He raised his axe to deliver the killing blow when the air left his chest. Staring down in shock he watched the spear of darkness erupt from his chest like billowing ink shot into water. He turned with the last of his strength and gazed up into the emotionless, silvery face of a steel dwarf on the ridge above. Then he felt his body turn to liquid, running down the mountain's slope toward the welcoming embrace of the dark blue mists below.
Corporal Datan awoke suddenly, his breaths desperate and laboured. He glanced around at the others in the brass circle - some had already woken and left after the ritual, others remained deep in slumber. Fora was awake, huddled against one of the pillars with her knees pressed up against her chest.
"Troubled sleep?" she asked. Datan nodded. "Fears about the journey today?"
"No," he said. "I did not see the cathedral. There was something else."
"What?"
"An ill omen."
8th Slate, 354Broose studied the fortifications from a distance, laid flat on the dune with a hand shadowing his eyes. The three dwarves and their guide were covered by dusty cloaks stained dark scarlet with prairie rose dye, giving them an element of camouflage against the sea of red sands. Rough diorite walls had been erected and quickly, with work progressing on a small lookout tower. Goblin bowmen stood atop the walls, scanning the desert plains boredly for signs of trouble.
"Locked up tight," said Broose. "We're not getting in there, and no sign of the inhabitants. Hey, wake up kid." He nudged Datan in the ribs, who started.
"What? Ah, sorry sarge. Not been getting much sleep lately."
"Well deal with it. Mind on the job and all that."
"Aye, sarge. Could've been taken already. That Threepools place on the map's only a few days away."
"Can you get us there?" Broose asked the guide.
"Within a league or so," said the dwarf, "but you're on your own getting into that place. No offense, but you soldiers get paid to risk your necks, I don't."
"Alright, take us there."
10th Slate, 354Haste was the watchword of Threepools. Everything appeared hurried; the construction, the stockpiling, the people. The site itself was a good one; a raised rocky outcropping over three small lakes where a pair of brooks met and ran on into a river, but the walls were a quickly assembled affair of local diorite and chalk. Not even time to mix mortar it seemed, the walls were dry-stone cut and held together by brute weight and sheer masonic ingenuity. Rushed as it may have been however, Broose could see it was sturdy dwarven engineering and would hold in a siege, especially one that came later rather than sooner - improvements and modifications were being made even now.
Work crews were dragging stone blocks and boulders up to the fort and empty wagons down to the lower quarries at any given time, droves of goblin, dwarven and even human slaves providing ample labour for the whipmasters to command. The outer quarries were largely being excavated to make more sheer the outer defences of Threepools; her engineers had none of the aesthetic reservations of Broose's own home town and he knew well enough that much of the fortress' stone came from the chambers being dug within. Hidden barracks, armouries and slave pits would all be excavated to cater to the fortress' needs.
"Why are they building an overground fort like that?" asked Jora. "Why not just dig straight into the mountainside like in the Mountainhomes?"
"Engineering marches on," said Broose.
"What?"
"There've been a few civil wars amongst dwarves this past century, corporal. Fortress architects started to learn the lesson that it doesn't matter how well trapped your hole in the ground is when you're facing an enemy that just direct a river straight into it and drown your entire army. So you build walls up to take advantage of archery and to divert any unwanted water flows. Would not surprise me if there are drains being delved in that fort as well, just in case."
"How we getting in then, sarge?"
"You two are getting in with the work crews. You'll have to bury your armour here, but you can probably hide your weapons in the stone carts and grab them when you've gotten in."
"What about you, sarge?" asked Datan.
"I shall be doing a bit of a look-see around whilst you're busy hauling blocks. This is scouting, so no engagements. When you get in, stick together and I'll find you."
A short while later, the three soldiers had buried their armour in a safe spot and Jora and Datan had smuggled themselves down to the quarry to join the work crews. Broose stole some rope from the construction work and made himself a rough lasso, scaling up a quiet section of the wall and perching on the edge, looking around. He smirked to himself as he saw who was on patrol.
Brickbeard watched boredly over the quarries below as antlike herds of slaves cut rock from the cliff-face and dragged it to the batallion of masons cutting boulders into locking dry-stone blocks. He paced along the line of the wall, waving to the other patroldwarf on duty and ducking under the lip of the guardhouse roof to light his pipe. A hand knocked it away as it grabbed him by the mouth and pulled him into the shadows, a thin steel dagger resting gently against his throat.
"Hullo again, Brickie," said his assailant softly.
"Mmrph?" exclaimed Brickbeard incredulously.
"Aye, it's me. Now I know you're not stupid, so I'm going to let my hand off. We good on that? Alright." He did so, and Brickbeard turned around to face him.
"You son of a bitch," Brickbeard spat.
"Thanks," chuckled Broose. "I'm thrilled to see you too." He embraced him tightly and the two dwarves laughed. They released one another.
"I thought you were stuck in the pokey," said Brickbeard.
"Nah, got out in the big break a few years back."
"Damn it, dwarf, you should've found me! We had a sweet gig going with a kobold smuggling giant cave spider venom, was a real laugh until the little scrag got himself killed."
"Ouch. Law track him down?"
"Nah, his suppliers. Guess he was short changing them on the revenue, and we've heard all the jokes about short changing dwarves. Started on this job not long after."
"What were you up to while I was in the deep hole, then?"
"This and that. Did a bit of banditry, the usual. Had a string of successful gigs with this girl Nireme, culminated in a big jewellery theft. Bitch ratted us out and left with the goods, of course. I ever find her, I'll slit her throat myself." Broose did the anagram work and opted to say nothing more on that. "So where've you been for the last three years, then?"
"Stuck here in the desert, actually. Got out on a boat, bloody thing breaks apart, strands us at the desert's edge. We finally get a wagon built to leave, thing breaks down and I end up taking residence. I don't know, Brick. Sometimes it's like Gigin Herself is out to get me."
"Well, you can hook back up with us now you're here. Food's not bad, regular at any rate and it isn't a half bad job."
"Not really sure-"
"Hey," grinned Brickbeard. "I hear there's looting opportunities on the horizon."
"Looting?" asked Broose with interest. "Really, now? What sort of-"
"Oi!" called a voice from along the wall. "Brickbeard! Who's that you're talking to?"
Broose turned quickly, a chill creeping down his spine. The other marksdwarf was heading towards them at a quick march, crossbow held loosely in his hand.
Jora and Datan trudged through the fortress archway with the other slaves, heads down under their cloaks and pulling the heavy wagon of bricks on their ropes. The slaves set the wagon down and began moving in a different direction. The two soldiers walked over to the bricks and prepared to retrieve their weapons when two heavy, meaty hands grabbed them bodily by the shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing?" roared the slavemaster, a monstrously muscled brute of a human.
"We-" stuttered Jora, pointing at the wagon. "The blocks-"
"Are going to construction. You two maggots are on kitchen duty! Now get to work or it'll be the lash for the both of you!" The slavemaster threw the pair into the mob of slaves trudging towards a tent-covered building. Caught up in the flow of pressed bodies, they were helpless to do aught but watch as a fresh team of slaves picked up the wagon's ropes and hauled it and their weapons away.
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I promise and I deliver. Albeit at the last minute (it was a very long Friday).
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Topic: Olonkulet - Bloodlines (Read 62451 times)