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Yes, I read it when it updates!

Yes, I've read/am reading it all the way through!

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Well, I just have to say I'm enjoying the story considerably. So, very well done Iituem. I hope you do the legend of Olonkulet justice.

[Iituem]

Danielle's Inventory
1st Haematite, 351

First harvest of the year!  We're looking at a crop of 20+ firecaps, and it won't take me long to replenish that either.  Broose grumbled at the news, but he grumbles at everything.  For some reason most of the others aren't that interested in, as Broose put it; "hours of fun at the cesspit".  I'm sure I have no idea what they mean.  Still, everyone is waiting for the glowcap harvest; we're all getting horribly close to sobriety these days and the liquor stock is pushing the half-way mark now.  Let's hope this doesn't last.


14th Malachite, 351

The glowcaps are fruiting, and we have been blessed with a massive harvest - nearly a dozen caps are being harvested.  Praise be to Nakas for this bounty!  Such fruits are worth two and a half times their weight in firecaps, once properly processed!  Twelve barrels of glow wine should not only give us plenty of light in the evenings but also aqssuage the worst of our drinking problems.  I have suggested a small shrine atop the western spire; Fath has promised to carve out a kaolinite statue for the pinnacle.


23rd Malachite, 351

The piles of glowcaps lie in the stores now, glowing faintly.  Urgash has set up the fermenting vats and the glowcaps are merrily rotting away.  Within a couple of weeks we should have our first batch of glow wine.



Vignette - A Toast to Revelry
9th Galena, 351

Urgash drained off the first barrel of glow wine to great applause from the other dwarves, tapping it and drawing a half-pint into a stiff leather cup.  He sniffed the liquor slightly and took a sip as the crowd watched with general anticipation.  Wiping the froth from his beard, he commented;

"It's sour, flat and tastes of butterscotch, but by the gods it's booze!"


Soon after, the dwarves gathered around the pinnacle of the spire where the farms had been dug out, mugs of gently glowing liquor in hand and watching Fath slide the finished statue into place on the smoothed floor of the shrine.  The statue was of a full-bodied female dwarf grasping a mug of ale in one hand and a freshly-baked crumpet in the other, wearing a sash over a dress and an expression of bemused exuberance.  The off-white boulder of kaolinite used to carve the statue had a thin red streak of minerals running through it, so the sash had been carved with this in mind and bore numerous simplified depictions of harvest, glowcap fermentation and general revelry.

Fath stepped back and, taking his mug from Danielle, raised it in a toast.

"To Nakas," he called.  "May the lass be honoured for her bountiful harvest!"

"To Revelry!" came a staggered cry from the other dwarves, who clinked their mugs together and drank.  Frey, who remembered such things, led them in a rough hymn to Nakas before ending the brief ceremony with another cheer and toast.


By the time evening was approaching, the dwarves had become firmly rooted in the beerhall and a fair number of mugs of the new glow wine had already been spent in the celebration of revelry.  Faintly shimmering stains covered the chalk tabletops.  Urgash had carved a flute from a camel bone and was playing tunes whilst Loksvig and Emerin danced a jig to general merriment.  Even Broose was enjoying the scene in his own gruff, silent way.  The tune came to an end and Loksvig and Emerin slumped against the wall, laughing with exhausted joy.

"A good dance!" called Urgash, swapping his flute for his mug and raising it.  There was another cheer and perfuntory round of quaffing.  "May I also say," he added, "how pleased I am with the new slaughterhouse district?  It's made my life a lot easier."

"District, eh?" laughed Loksvig.  "You make it sound like we're building a city!  This time next year, the wagons will be built and we'll be long gone, I daresay."  He drained a bit of his mug and, wiping froth from his beard, continued;  "What's your plan for that, anyhow?  Where are you going after we get out of this?"

"Head north, maybe," mused Urgash.  "Away from the Mountainhomes.  Some of the bitches are pregnant, so maybe I could start a dog farm.  There's good money in it, once you've got a few decent packs going.  What about you?"

"Well Emerin and I," said Loksvig, with a smile at his partner, "were looking at going south from Kulettögum, maybe all the way to Nist Akath."

"Nist Akath?" exclaimed Fath.  "Innae that some manner of ice-cover'd hellhole?"

"Used to be," said Emerin, "but the dwarf who founded it?  Captain Ironblood?  They say he's really turned it around.  Plus I hear there's work for gemcutters there and, well, diamonds are a girl's best friend!"  Emerin grinned.  "What about you, Fath?  What'll you do when this is all over?"

"Well I've been pondering a lot about this whole 'thinking machine' lark," said Fath, "and I reckon I could really make something of it, y'know?  Few assistants, decent brassworker and I'm pretty sure I can show them, ahah, show them all."

"What about our favourite silent soldier?" asked Emerin, nodding to Broose.  The axedwarf looked up from his ale and chewed on the question for a while before answering.

"Reckon I'll head on to Kulettögum," he said.  "Work for a soldier there, all the salt I could need.  Lumber, too, so I'll be in pocket during peacetime.  Dani?"

"I reckon I'll head to Kulettögum too," decided Danielle.  "Probably get some work at the farms there, and I can try and convert them over to the firecap standard.  So what about you, Frey?  What do you want to do?"

"Hadn't really thought about it," confessed Frey, taking a sip from his mug.

"There must be something you want from life," prodded Emerin.

"Well," said Frey, "for a long time now I was after something, but I finally got it and since then I've just been going day by day, really.  When I was a kid though, back before the wars, I used to want to run my own mine.  I guess I could look into that.  Heck, I could probably come back here!"

"Here?" laughed Fath.  "You're kidding me."

"No, seriously.  There's plenty of magnetite deposits in the region, lots of gemstones and no shortage of chalk.  Importing the coal would be expensive, but I reckon if I came back with a properly equipped expedition this could be made into a decent steelworks."

"Ah, that's all to the future anyway," he chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.  "Urgash, strike up another tune, will you?  If Loksvig can untether himself from his beau for a few minutes I should like to have a dance." 

Laughter followed, Urgash began to play another jig, and the revelry continued on into the night.




-------

Yes, this is that Olonkulet.  Sure doesn't look like a mechanical deathtrap now, right?

As I said, I've been wanting to write this one for a year or so now and I finally decided to just go for it.  If I want to be a better writer, I basically have to just keep writing, and this is an excellent little exercise for that.  

If you guys want to write additional bits of backstory for your characters, feel free.  I'll try and incorporate them/references to them where I can.  Apologies to Maggarg for liberties taken with Loksvig, as well.  The good news is that he already knows how this ends, and there will (memory permitting) be a child escapee from the fortress' ultimate face by the name of Oddbod.

P.S.  Frey isn't the lost heir to the throne, I'll give you that much.  Certainly not now.

[sonerohi]

May I ask what Olonkulet is? Several searches brought up nothing and it sounds both fun and entertaining.

[Broose]

It is a fort mentioned a couple times in the Waterbore thread. The city was essentially a large machine made of brass.

[Iituem]

Urgash's Journal
1st Limestone, 351

The bitches gave birth today, both of them!  One litter of two, one of four.  Our dog population has literally doubled in the space of six months, which is looking very promising.  I know we are starting to get a bit tired of goat and marmot and many of us would look forward to a decent spot of hound.  Still, Loksvig says the caravan will be arriving in the next couple of months; we can buy tools and wood for the wagons, and if we can't get any more beasts of burden then on the bright side it will only be another few months before the pups are strong enough to be harnessed with their parents and drag a cart.  We risked a bit more lumber to build a cage for them, as it's important to keep one's beasts safe where possible.


14th Limestone, 351

The caravan has been sighted!  We lit a fire to attract them and, sure enough, they are headed towards the encampment now.  It should be a day or so before they arrive, so we're going to be busy getting as many goods ready to trade for tools and parts as we can.



Vignette: Changing Times
16th Limestone, 351

"What the hell is going on?" yelled Emerin, keeping Fath's crossbow pointed firmly at the figure's chest.  Before her and behind her target, three marksdwarves had their own bows levelled at her and a pair of axedwarves held their weapons ready to attack.  The figure raised his hands carefully.

"Now," he said, "if we can all just put our weapons down this can be handled perfectly-"

"An elf!" she shrieked, waving the crossbow dangerously.  "Why in Gigin's own name are you dwarves following an elf?"

"Because," explained the elf as the other dwarves of the camp rushed onto the scene, "I am the trade liason for the Searing Crypts." 

Emerin was dumbstruck.

"But how?" she demanded.

"By order of Her Majesty the Queen, Atis Alathsat."

"What are you talking about?" barked Broose from the edge of the trade depot.  He advanced, axe held carefully in both hands.  "The King doesn't have a wife!"

"Ye-es," agreed the liason.  "I understand that was something of the problem."  He looked over the puzzled faces of the dwarves, surprised.  "You honestly didn't know?"

"Know what?" said Emerin.

"The King is dead.  Slain during a prison break six months ago." 

A dead silence rang out across the depot as this sank in.  Frey even dropped his pick from the shock.  Taking this as his cue, the elf signalled the marksdwarves to lower their bows and continued to explain.

"Someone was able to get into the throne room during the chaos and caved in the monarch's skull with some manner of sharp object, probably a weighted shiv or axe.  Nobody could find the killer amid all the chaos, and a large number of convicts escaped that day.  With no heir and no clear blood relatives, the kingdom was thrown into a power struggle and weakened.  That was when the elves struck."

"Your people," muttered Fath darkly.

"Not quite.  My liege - our liege was a general on the attacking side.  She met up with a dwarf captain on the defending side, a deal was made and she thwarted the Elven invasion.  Those of us who chose to defect with her were given positions within the kingdom and she took possession of the monarchy."

"How do we know to trust you?" asked Danielle.

"Trust your eyes," said the elf, spreading his arms.  The dwarves considered the picture before them.  Although unmistakably an elf, he did not seem quite as Elvish as those they had met in the past.  He wore a brocaded silk cloak, trousers and gloves, dyed pure paledome white, a dogskin leather jerkin and a pair of royal purple silk shoes.  The dwarves around him paid him a deference, albeit begrudgingly, and seemed willing to fight for his safety.  Outlandish as his story was, it seemed to ring true.

"My name is Datan Fathlakish," said the elf, stepping forward and offering a hand to Emerin.  She looked at it suspiciously before taking it in hand and shaking it, squeezing just a little too hard on those delicate elven bones.  The liason winced visibly, pulling his hand back once the shake was complete.  "And you are?"

"Urist," said Emerin, lowering the bow and thinking of the first name to come to her head.  "Urist Stonesalves."

The elf reached backward and a dwarf handed him a book.  He thumbed through the pages.

"Urist," he murmured, searching.  "Urist Stonesalves.  Aha.  Wanted for grand tax fraud and, of course, escape from a prison."  The elf grinned as Emerin cursed her choice of name.  "What's the bounty on a handful of white-beard criminals, Likot?"

"Not much," growled one of the guards.  "Three gold coins, maybe."

"So cheap?  You should be insulted, my dear dwarf, that the kingdom thinks so little of your crimes.  Too little, perhaps, to waste dragging your seven sorry bodies back to the Mountainhomes."  The elf nodded to the table full of goathide waterskins and miscellaneous bone jewellery.

"Three of those each," he said with surprisingly dwarven frankness, "and we forget we saw you.  Reckon any of those must be worth a gold or three, and none of them are nearly so weighty as you lot.  What do you say?"  Emerin twitched at such blatant blackmail, then reminded herself of the guards.  She nodded and Datan clapped his hands together with delight.

"Excellent!" he cheered.  "Now then, I notice you have all these goods out.  Perhaps we can do a spot of trade?  What is it that you poor miscreants need?"

"Wagon parts," said Emerin.  "Tools, otherwise, to build them.  Wood for certain."  The liason mused.

"Nope," he said, "can't help you with any of those.  We're trading to Abbeyverse, and they have plenty enough of all three.  Tools, the best I can do for you would be to sell you an anvil.  We've a ton of those, and they're always a bastard to shift.  Still, with an anvil you can make tools, though I'm afraid we don't have fuel to actually heat a forge with either."

"What about out of here?"

"What, like a lift?  This isn't a stage coach, treacle stump, and the folks at Abbeyverse might get a bit suspicious if I suddenly rode into town with seven new merchants."  He considered it for a moment, then pointed to Broose.  "Him, I could take.  Pass him off as a guard, and the fee will be fifty gold or equivalent.  Rest of you, not going to happen.  What do you say?"

All eyes turned to Broose.  The dwarf planted his axe in the ground and leant on it, stroking his beard in silence.

"You're actually going to leave us?" said a shocked Emerin.

"Considering," grunted Broose, who was now studying the elf.

"Come on, lad, I can get you out of this place," said Datan.  "What do you say?"

"I say," said Broose after a long pause, "that either we all go, or none of us go."

"Then none of you go," said the elf.  "Sorry, but that's the way it is.  Ferrying the seven of you just isn't worth my hide.  Now, are we going to trade or what?"

Emerin agreed and settled down with the elf to try and barter some goods out of him, eventually securing a new anvil for toolmaking, some paledome and redbulb spawns and a fresh supply of glow wine.  The others slunk back to their various jobs, soaking in the news they had just received.





-------

Olonkulet is pretty much Maggarg's invention.  The concept struck me as fascinating to do a story around, so I've opted to do so.  I've seen it mentioned in the Dwarven Pol Pot thread as well, with the same general theme; a brass machine-city that closed its doors upon the world with only a handful of children surviving to tell the world.

The original design was to not to do Olonkulet being founded, but the reclaim expedition in which what happened to Olonkulet would be revealed.  However I find this way is proving to be rather more enjoyable, especially with all the little backstories people have provided for me to work with!  It's turning out rather more character-driven than I expected.

[ousire]

sooo.....the dwarvish civ is ruled by elves?

no wonder olonkulet closed itself off from the world....

[Eagle]

This is shaping up to be as epic as Nist Akath and Boatmurdered. I especially like the ASCII art you have thats showing the smaller scenes. Adds a nice touch. Id also like to request a dwarf:

Male
Name: Ragnar

Backstory: A former Captain of the Guard, from before the others in this story were even born, he refused to beat dwarves for crimes not committed by them. This eventually irked the nobles enough to have him tossed out of the city, forcing him into exile. Unwilling to leave to far from his city, he simply carved out his own living area in the Old City, a little ways from the waterway that Emerin and Co went down. There he made use of the abandoned workshops, farms and forges, and survived for many, many years. Lately though, the sounds of civil unrest have been filtering up through the locks, and he saw a boat packed with dwarves heading downriver. A few weeks later, military sweeps for the escaped convicts finally forced him out of his home, leading him to head downriver, where he stumbled upon the others.

Apperance: A military dwarf, still wearing excellent, albeit extremely battered and worn armor, he is scarred from head to toe. His battle experience would be legendary, if any were still alive that remembered him. He carries a notched, battle worn blade, that he forged himself during his campaigns in the army before becoming Captain.

Personality: Hardworking and quiet, he will give help wherever needed and will never harm those incapable of defending themselves. He will also never harm anybody that evidently didnt do something wrong, a trait that led to his forced exile.

Skill: Swordsdwarf in times of trouble, anything else during times of peace (providing for yourself for years will definitely net you a grab bag of random skills). Once you get some more workers to fill out labor tasks, he'll switch over to full time military.


Thanks in advance, and keep up the great story!

[Enzo]

Elves? ELVES? This calls for some serious ethnic cleansing. And I don't say that very often.

If you guys want to write additional bits of backstory for your characters, feel free. 

Well...alright Although Urgash is pretty damn cool already. If you desire:
Urgash secretly always wanted to be a soapmaker, but his father wouldn't allow it because of the Dwarven stigma surrounding soapmakers (they are useless).
Also, he's obsessive about using all parts of the animal, hence his skillset. Not sure how well I implied this.

[Broose]

Broose secretly loves elves.  This should make things interesting.

[Enzo]

I was wondering why he would consider going with the elf for even a second.

[Iituem]

Urgash's Journal
20th Sandstone, 351

We encountered a kobold today, rifling through the goods being taken down from the depot stalls.  Frey immediately went for it with his pick, but not before the dogs descended on it as a pack and tore it limb from limb.  It was hard to say who actually managed the killing blow, but we've settled on the one hound, a bitch who has been named Mengatast in honour of the victory.  She got a little bit of fresh goat meat in her bowl today as a reward.


6th Timber, 351

The river froze over again today and looks to be staying that way until the coming spring.  It doesn't look like we'll be out until then, so Danielle has asked Frey and Emerin to dig out a flooding chamber for the new year. 


9th Moonstone, 351

The full complement of workbuildings is now complete.  Our supplies should tide us through the winter, though the lack of barrels to store things (esp. liquor) in is growing intolerable.  We dare not risk any further wood lest we have insufficient to prepare the wagons with in spring.


7th Obsidian, 351

Everyone is keeping busy; it takes off the worst of the cold.  We might be working into spring on the wagons, so Fath designed some more spacious accomodation for us.  There might be a bit of double-rooming (something Emerin and Loksvig have no problem with, har har har), but it's a damn sight better than the barracks we're in at the moment.  The work is keeping us in good spirits, at any rate.  With all the browncaps yielded over the year, we must've pressed out about seventy tins' worth of brown chow and I've baked the majority of that into rations for the winter and gruel.  It might not be appetising, but it's sure as hell filling.



Vignette: My Old Ore Cart
28th Obsidian, 351

"Born this afternoon they were," said Urgash, gesturing to the corner of the room with his mug.  A bitch and two tiny pups were curled up in a stiff leather basket, covered with Urgash's cloak.

"Sign of prosperity, that," said Frey sagely.  He took a swig of liquor and looked up at the solid chalk roof.  Like the rest of the little apartment, it was decidedly spartan save for where Urgash had hung a glowbowl from the ceiling on some twine.  "You taking this one, then?"

"I reckon so, aye.  Close to the cages and the slaughterhouse, but not so close as to be noisy.  You?"

"Any's as good as another.  Might have to end up bunking with Broose, though."  Frey rolled his eyes.  "That's going to be a charm.  At least he won't be bunking with Fath, I'm pretty sure one would eventually opt to murder the other."

"Actually," confessed Urgash sheepishly, "I'll be bunking with Dani."  He spread his hands and grinned.

"You old rogue!" Frey laughed.  "When did that happen?"

"Last week, when she was picking up the browncap spawns after I'd finished pressing them.  We got to talking and, well, I guess she liked what she heard.  We've been keeping quiet about it, what with all the work going on, but there's no real reason to hide it."  The pair left the vacant apartments and wended back to the beerhall, mugs in hand, where bright lights and Broose's loud, tuneless singing voice from within indicated the new year festivities were still ongoing.  Urgash cringed slightly at the rendition of 'My Old Ore Cart', this version tarted up with extra verses about beards and gold.

"Speaking of which," he asked, "how are you finding the winter rations?"

"It's brown chow," replied Frey shrewdly.  "One step below gruel and one step above mushed-up straw.  Give you credit, though, there's always a bit of meat in there.  Fat, too.  That stew can keep a dwarf warm over winter."

"There's plenty more meat in an animal than most folk reckon," said Urgash sagely.  "I'd have a bit more bonemeal in there if I could help it, but not really got the tools for that."

"Ye-es, I noticed the camel brain casserole last week had a suspiciously gritty 'pastry' to it.  Please don't do that again, Fath nearly choked and I had to give him my liquor ration to wash it down."

The pair leant on the door frame, watching the scene inside as Broose (who had imbibed enough glow wine to actually turn jolly) was trying to balance a marmot skull totem on his nose whilst singing the fourteenth verse of 'My Old Ore Cart' (the sixth regarding beards and the ninth specifically relating to gold)*.

"It's been a good year, hasn't it?" asked Urgash.

"Yeah," agreed Frey, "all said and done.  I imagine we're all ready to go, though.  I'm getting sick of glow wine, for one.  Decent imported ale would go down a treat."

"Truer words have ne'er been spoken, my friend.  Dani's still got her heart set on converting Kulettögum to the firecap standard and it'd make a good place to set up the dog farm by.  How's the wagon going?"

"Not well.  Fath's a good architect, but he's not a carpenter.  None of us are.  It looks like we might end up needing metal springs for the wheels too, which means either getting hold of parts or sacrificing more wood to forge some from the local materials.  Loksvig reckons we can try and get hold of a human trade caravan on its way south, but even so we might be stuck here for a while longer waiting for that.  Still, end of the year, right?"

"Aye, Frey.  End of the year."  Urgash raised his mug.  "Here's to getting out of here, my friend."

"I'll drink to that." 

They touched mugs and did so, then stepped into the room in time for the twenty-second round and joined in the riotous chorus of 'Adamantine!'.  Heralded by revelry, the world turned and a new year began.



*In which the protagonist of the folk song has accumulated in his ore cart a store of limonite, haematite, magnetite, malachite, rhyolite, cryolite, chromite, quartzite, phyllite, bauxite, cobaltite, calcite, lignite, and is currently in the process of obtaining kimberlite.  He has also obtained 8193 mugs of ale, an assortment of gold jewellery, several finely-bearded wenches and a kitten.  As with all such litanies, every single item is reiterated in each verse.  The song continues for as many verses as the singer can keep up with and eventually ceases when the protagonist discovers 'Borax' and realises there are no other minerals that rhyme.  Dwarf folk songs tend to be written with heavy inebriation and a highly specialised set of interests in mind.

Olonkulet in the New Year

Edit:  Fixed link.

[ousire]

link at the end dont work D:

[Remalle]

I love your writing.  Do you think you'll actually have enough copper and zinc to make a computer?

[Rysith]

I would love to join in this fortress.

Name: Rahxs if male, Jora if female
Profession: Swordsdwarf. Pirate. Adventurer!
Backstory:
  Once the [son|daughter] of a minor noble, [he|she] fled to avoid an arranged marriage, and was forced to take up, in varying measures, thievery, piracy, and eventually freelance adventuring to survive. Has based [his|her] persona largely on the stories that [he|she] read growing up, and so has a tendency to be overdramatic and swashbuckling-y. Eventually finding Olonkulet, [he|she] decided that it would be as good a place as any to settle down, since the dwarves here were at least open-minded about dwarves who hadn't always been on the right side of the law. [He|She] is happy to pick up any job that needs to be done if there isn't a need for a swordsdwarf of a sword to wield, but would prefer to be off being heroic if [he|she] can.

[ousire]

yay fixed link!

its gonna be interesting to see how this evolves from this simple little mini-village, into its eventual form of an insane and twisted mechanical wonder.... *bwahahaha!*