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[sonerohi]

Pepta the dwarf, please! Any profession desired, Pepta will lend a hand! You never know what skill you will need to break ot of a jail and survive in the wilds, so all of them need to be learned!

[Eagle]

Oh yeah. Ragna's a badass.

At least if i hit a mood we'll get an artifact weapon.

[Jim Groovester]

I'm glad you took my criticism, Iituem, but I think you may have swung too far in the direction of disorder. Fights breaking out within the booze hall with no development of tension was a bit sudden, but I think I like it better like this with all the dwarves watching each other and forcing them towards their better natures.

And now a bit about Emerin. She's rich. She's got a hidden stash of gold and jewels somewhere. Count Kogan and Baron Likot aren't the only nobles she's fleeced for their money's worth, and their mountainhome isn't the only one she robbed, just the only one she got caught at.

She didn't accumulate all her wealth by herself, however. For particularly valuable and well-guarded jewels, she would recruit help. Help that she totally screwed over, using the classic "Give me the bag of jewels, I'll see you at the meet up." trick or the "Good work; let's split up the loot tomorrow. Let's have a drink!" trick. Her unattended stash of jewels is gnawing at her mind, fearing that her spurned crews might find it. Or find her.

Being forced to be leader of a temporary refuge for prisoners is about the last thing she wants right now. Staying in one place for too long is about the last thing she wants right now.

[Iituem]

15th Limestone, 352

"No luck with that wagon, then?" asked Datan jovially as his own wagons rolled into the marketplace.  Emerin stood at its centre, bearing a decidedly unamused expression for the elven dwarven liason.  She drew herself up and tried to be as cordial as she could manage.

"No, there's still the tool issue.  A forge is being worked on."  She gestured westward, where the mesa had apparently shrunk by a number of feet since the shrine was moved.

"And I see you have in fact multiplied!  Threefold, by the looks of it.  You know, if you want me to stay quiet about this sort of thing, you really ought to keep your numbers down.  I'd be much easier to buy off that way."  Datan smirked, snapping his fingers and holding out his palm.

Emerin sighed and tossed him an ivory crown, studded with moonstones and tourmaline.  The elf caught it and inspected it carefully.

"That about settle the bribe?" she asked tiredly.

"Just about, yes.  On the matter of actual trade I had a feeling I might catch you here, so we have some tower cap lumber for you to buy, as well as a collection of varied spawn for your farm.  We have a few weapons as well, and I can't help but notice the architectural improvements since I was last here.  The wall around your camp, for one."

"We've had some slight kobold and goblin issues.  Our sherriff assured us it was a necessary precaution."

"Sherriff!" Datan marvelled.  "My, you dwarves practically have your own little hamlet here.  If it weren't for your strangely overland building preferences, I'd say you were digging in!"

"It's temporary," stated Eremin flatly, trying to overcome the urge to knock the overbearing elf's teeth in.  "We're still working on getting out, but the wagon springs need making.  I don't suppose you have any wagon springs?"

"Afraid not, and taking people is again out of the question, given how many you have."

"Very well," said Eremin.  "Shall we just trade?"

"So short!" exclaimed the elf.  "No pun intended, I assure you, but this is hardly the eloquent dwarf I remember.  Has something so wrong happened since last we met?  Apart, of course, from being trapped here in this desolate wasteland."

"No, that would be it.  That and trying to keep everything together whilst putting up with smarmy- that is, whilst handling diplomacy with our gracious trade allies."  Emerin gave the elf a thin-lipped smile, who laughed off the slight.

"Very well then, my desolate little friend.  Let us trade."



Vignette:  Another Life
26th Sandstone, 352

Ousire and Yngwie sat on the cliff edge, Yngwie swinging her legs and chiselling away at a small stone idol.  She grimaced a bit at the result, taking a small file from her workbag and trying to shave off the edge on the idol's nose.  She much preferred metalwork, but with the lack of trees in the region the forge shaft was the only way to get enough heat and that would still be months to completion.  Ousire was silently stroking the nose of one of her donkeys as it nibbled on the coarse mountaintop grass.

"Whatcha thinkin', Ousie?" Yngwie asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Nothing," mumbled Ousire, avoiding her gaze.

"Really?  'cause that's hard, I know, I've tried!  I used to try and think of nothing, but whenever I get close I get all these thoughts just flying into my head and I really don't know what to do with them all-"

"I'm thinking of home, alright?" snapped Ousire.  Sometimes it was easier just to tell Yngwie things than listen to her babble.

"What about it?" asked Yngwie, completely oblivious to any and all given hints to shut up.

"My mum and dad," Ousire grunted.  She sighed, moving her hand down from the donkey's nose and running her fingers through the little tuft of grass.  Her eyes stared into the distance, to a faraway place and a better time.

"The farm," she continued, "and the grotto.  There were sixteen of us, all cousins and uncles, and we lived in the hills above a little human town called Hornplenty.  My uncles carved stone or cut wood.  We couldn't afford a forge, so they would send me to the town often to fan the human smith's there as practice.  My dad raised donkeys in the clearing over the grotto.  My mum grew shadeberries in the summer and mullen roots in the winter.  In autumn, we'd press duskjam and in spring we'd pound out mallota.  My mum was such a cook - the best, we'd say!"  Ousire laughed.  "The best in fifty miles.  She'd make these pastries from mallota and duskjam, with a bit of sliced hamfist from the human crops in town.  When the caravans to the Mountainhomes would pass by, she'd sell baskets of them and they'd always tell her how much people liked those 'quaint little treats' in the citadels.  I can't believe I found that boring, now.  Today, I can't imagine a better life.  Then, I used to dream of growing up and leaving the grotto in my brothers' hands, becoming a mechanic in the mountains where the citadels were.  A life of wealth and glamour."

"What happened?" asked Yngwie.

"What do you think happened?" snapped Ousire, her head swivelling to face Yngwie's with the wrath of titans in her eyes.  "The war happened, Yngie!  First the elves, the stotting cannibals.  My uncles fought them off while we fled, now they're chewed up and passed out in a bloody cesspit somewhere!"  Ousire bit back tears and glared with renewed hatred at the horizon.

"The dwarves, though.  That I can never forgive.  Billeting, they called it.  Bloody robbery, I did, but we let them in to do as they please, because who argues with a regiment of axedwarves?  They broke open the mallota sacks, slaughtered the donkeys, drank all our beer and acted like animals.  They made my mother cook her delicate pastries, then spat them at her and insulted her cooking as they ate.  The commander was the worst.  Stotting Stonebreaker, they called him.  Officers are supposed to rein their men in, not goad them on!  Then one of them look a liking to my mother.  He grabbed her and... and..."  Ousire's fist was clenched tightly around the clump of grass, tearing it slowly from the ground.

"She was quicker than him," sniffed Ousire, with a hint of pride.  "Carving knife, under the jawbone.  Killed him instantly, which was the only shame.  The others didn't feel like playing after that.  They cut her down in her own kitchen, carving up her body before her husband's eyes and mine.  My dad grabbed hold of one of their axes, yelled for me to run, so I did.  He went down fighting, as far as I know."

"Then what happened?" asked Yngwie, who seemed enraptured by such an horrific tale as only someone with such a child-like mind could manage.  Ousire stared at her for a moment before finishing.

"Then I grabbed the two donkeys still alive, saddled one of them and rode out of there as fast as I could.  Survived on my own for a few weeks, ran into you.  The rest you know."  She looked at the clump of grass gripped within her fingers - her knuckles had gone white from the force.  The donkey brayed plaintively at her having stolen his meal.  Ousire's features softened and she opened her palm, letting the donkey nibble contentedly at the grass.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this, anyway," she muttered.

"Because you're my friend, Ousie!" replied Yngwie, throwing her arms around the bemused smelter.  After a moment, Ousire hugged back with a defeated smile.

"Aye, Yngie, you are."  She pulled back, looking into the distance with a frown. 

"What's that?," she asked.  "Are those... people?"


Eremin's Log
26th Sandstone, 352

I can hardly believe I am writing this, but one of the metalworkers, Ousire, spotted another trail of dwarves headed towards the camp.  From the looks of it, eight in total.


28th Sandstone, 352

Loksvig strolled into the main office, where Emerin was buried until a pile of reports.  He chuckled to himself, then knelt down and helped her out from under the mass of thin slates.

"Thank you," muttered a bedraggled-looking Emerin.  "Fath's new 'report sorting mechanism' needs work.  The bloody thing just launched my in tray at me.  Naturally, Danielle's works fine," she added sourly, glaring at her own offending contraption, which essentially looked like a series of trays secured by tightened sinew.

"What was it meant to do?" asked Loksvig.

"Apparently the tray is supposed to tilt a report so it lands on my desk when I'm finished dealing with the old one, then tilt the old one into a separate pile neatly for storage.  Mostly it just tries to kill me in a variety of interesting ways.  Fath says it would work a lot better if we had any brass to make springs from."

"He says that about pretty much everything.  How are you holding up?"

"I'm not!  I've been held down - literally - by having to process all these people.  Apparently they're another band of migrants like Ragna's lot; half of them criminal, the other half disenfranchised.  It seems they were actually trying to make it in the desert moving from oasis to oasis until they ran into Ibon's caravan.  She gave them a tip-off about this place and they thought they could actually settle down."

"You tell them about the wagon plan?"

"They weren't hot about it, they're really looking for somewhere of their own, but right now they're just glad to have a place to lay their heads.  I guess I can offer them a wagon of their own once this is all established, but right now I just wish I could get a few moments to myself to be alone again.  There's always Frey, or Broose, or Ragna, or even bloody Danielle wanting my attention on something."  Loksvig smirked at that, then smiled a little more kindly.  He leant forwards and kissed Emerin lightly on the forehead.  She closed her eyes and exhaled.

"Solitude is something you cultivate," he said.  "Sometimes you just need to remember."

As he left with a wink and a grin, Emerin's hand brushed over the tiny gemstone fragment he had left on her desk.  She wrapped her hand around it and smiled, finding a brief moment of solitude.


-----------

The lack of tension as a build-up is more a reflection of my developing skill as a writer than anything else, I'm afraid.  I needed to have a reason to put a sherriff in, but neglected to foreshadow it strongly enough in advance.  One of the dangers of not building these things into one's long-term plotlines.  I shall be working on seeding things properly in advance where I can.  The beauty and annoyance of journalistic/episodic storytelling is that since you can't go back and edit things, you really have to think on your feet about stuff.

I've added Khain to the military, and gave Pepta the rank of our one carpenter (poor Pepta), with Rivesand in this immigration wave.  Khain, I may have to tinker slightly with elements of your backstory to get it all to fit, just to warn you in advance.

I should be impressed if Ragna gets a mood - she's stuck in full-time military mode.  Even if she does, she can no longer make weaponry.   


Also, a disconcerting little fact.  So far, that's ~25,000 words or 35 A4 pages written.

[[deleted]]

I love Fath's obsession with Brass. I wonder if the map even has any sphalerite? He'll be mighty pleased to hear it, I'm sure!

[Iituem]

Danielle's Inventory
9th Moonstone, 352

I went through the stocks this morning to discover a slight error in the lumber totals.  A little investigation led me to the carpenter Pepta, who has been busy fulfilling a work order for bedding to equip the new apartments; a decision that caused some controversy, but sufficient wood remains to complete work on a wagon so long as no more is used.  Assuming Pepta had simply made an error in receipt of the work order and was making additional beds I attempted to call her to cease, but she continued to work at the bed she was creating regardless.  She refused any contact and to answer any questions put to him, later also refusing both food and water.  Rumours are beginning to circulate that she is acting as Karana did.  Given that she is also Nakasian, some of the Nakasian dwarves are watching her progress on this piece of furniture with quite a measure of interest.


14th Moonstone, 352

A crowd gathered this afternoon as Pepta, beaming, unveiled her creation.  The bed, Fastenedsculpture the Just Lutes, was carved in the style of a royal four-poster with bands of polished diorite inlaid on all sides.  Impressive as the craftsmanship was, what boggled the onlookers most were the rows of fine tower cap spikes protruding from the base of the bed, where the mattress should be.  Pepta explained that the spines were carefully arranged so as to support the weight of the back in the most comfortable position.  Met with sceptical views, she laid down upon the bed herself to no harm, sitting up again thereafter and sliding off.  Another dwarf, Kulet, tried the bed out to his surprising comfort and soon everyone was queing up to have a lie-down.

When questioned as to whether this was the work of divine inspiration, he responded that though Nakas had guided her heart, the hands that built Fastenedsculpture were her own.  More disconcerting was her request to have a chamber dug out for aesthetic reasons, half-way down the western cliff-face, claiming to have seen it in a dream.  She was joined by Karana in this and soon had the support of most of the Nakasians.  Emerin agreed to the request (demand?) put to her, though I made my complaint regarding a break of theme.  The Nakasians insisted on a place to remember those lost in the war, and it is deeper tradition than I might dare break for dwarven places of mourning to be beneath the ground.  Emerin has thus approved a site on Frey's recommendation, whilst Fath has drawn up a basic architectural layout.


18th Moonstone, 352

Excavation of the remembrance grounds has led to discovery of several valuable gemstone veins (purple spinel, cherry opal and rubicelle), prompting additional gemwork.  This is finally getting Karana back to useful work in setting the newly cut gems.  She seems often harassed by dwarves looking for spiritual counsel, which makes her an alarmingly influential sort of person.  She did send me that basket of firecaps, though, so she can't possibly be all that bad.


3rd Opal, 352

"Frey!" yelled Ascubis from the far edge of the cavernous diorite mine.  "I've hit something!  Iron, I think!"

"Don't be stupid!" Frey yelled back.   "You don't get iron ore at this layer!"

"It's not ore!  Think it's meteoric!"

Frey hustled over with his pick, putting an end to the necessity of shouting.  There, protruding from the edge of the chipped-out diorite wall, was an outcropping of blackened iron, jutting out in a strangely cuboid angle.

"Iron doesn't naturally form crystals, does it?" asked Ascubis.

"Not meteoric iron, not like that," said Frey.  "It's not a clear crystalline shape, anyway.  Look, there are these little nodules."

"Those aren't nodules, they look more like..."  Ascubis trailed off, staring at the metallic hunk in disbelief.  "By Deler's beard, are those rivets?"


Six hours of careful chipping later, the chest had been excavated from the rock face and brought up to the first floor of the Beerhall, where Danielle and Emerin were inspecting it along with Ragna, Broose, the miners, Karana and Ousire, who had been called because she had a metal drill.  The chest itself was no bigger than a housecat and bore a small lock on the front.  Impressively, not a spot of rust adorned it, though the iron had been blackened by heat.

"You're saying you found this buried in solid diorite?" asked Emerin.

"Once again, yes," replied Ascubis.  "We were excavating the chamber when my pick hit metal.  I was expecting native gold, so I started digging around it to get a better look and that's when I saw the rivets."

"How does a chest get into solid diorite?  If you try and bury something in solid rock, even if you fill it in with cement that's going to leave traces."

"Answer seems pretty simple to me," volunteered Broose.  "Iron doesn't melt in magma, right?  You could get that if the lava solidified around the chest when it cooled."

"That doesn't explain how - or why - it got there," said Emerin.  "None of this makes any sense."

"Do you want this thing opening or not?" asked Ousire shortly.  "I've got things to do at the workshops, can't be standing around all day with the drill."  Emerin gave her the go-ahead and she soon drilled through the lock of the ancient chest.  The smelter pushed the lid back with some effort and the harsh squeal of iron on iron, relying on brute force to overcome the years the iron had enjoyed sealed shut.

Within the chest were three horribly mundane items; a broken glass statue of a dwarf, a palm-sized bauxite mural and the remnants of a leather-bound book.  The pages of the book had long since burned to ash, but hints of the original inscription on the front cover still remained.

Code: [Select]

##########################
#####RNFA#####MPEND#######
###       ##         #####
####E LIFE#AND TIMES O####
CEROL AR####T SIGUNKIKR###
#       V##UME II    ##
##    #######       #### 

"Are those dwarven characters on the book?" exclaimed Karana in amazement.

"It's an odd style of writing," confirmed Danielle, "but those are dwarven, yes.  What strikes me more is the mural."  She moved closer to inspect it.

The mural bore the engraving of three titans, towering over a massive stone gear.  Upon each of the six spokes of the gear, the titans were building temples.  The engraving was done quite masterfully, and the artist has scribed a tiny 'D' into one corner, but other than this little else was notable.

"What do you suppose it is?" wondered Emerin.

"An omen," announced Karana softly, almost fearing to speak it.  "Pepta chose that site based on a dream.  Might it be that the gods have willed us to find it?"

"If so," asked Frey, "then why?"

"I do not pretend to know," admitted Karana.  "The divine is often mysterious in its actions.  Perhaps this is a sign for us.  A step in the direction we should take."

"I would not be too hasty to step on that path," rumbled Broose.  "That journal doesn't look promising."

"It would have gotten very hot inside the chest when the magma flowed over it," Frey pointed out.

"Aye, that it would.  But look at the scorching, see how it's mostly on one side?  The magma didn't do this.  That book was burned before it was buried."



21st Opal, 352

Emerin struck rubies today whilst excavating a bauxite deposit for the western shaft platform.  She informs me that the pocket yielded three pounds of the stone and has recorded them into the book.  It occurs to me that with the bauxite around the rubies now mined away, it is impossible for me to discover exactly how many pounds of rubies were in the deposit to begin with.

Frey suggested when I brought this up that it might be best for the sake of cohesion if I do not investigate that too closely.  This does not seem a bad idea.  Emerin has additionally decided on my advisement to keep the chest artefacts available in the Beerhall offices.  Stories have been spreading about them, and a number of dwarves have come to see them for themselves.  Who knows?  Perhaps in time they may reveal more of themselves than we believe.

[Jim Groovester]

Volume II? I wonder where Volume I is. Is there a Volume III? Or IV?

And who is Cerol Arsomethingt Sigunkikrost?

Cue ominous music. It appears our little temporary refuge has an history to it, deep within the rock.

[Keita]

I've added Khain to the military, and gave Pepta the rank of our one carpenter (poor Pepta), with Rivesand in this immigration wave.  Khain, I may have to tinker slightly with elements of your backstory to get it all to fit, just to warn you in advance.

thats totaly fine, I kinda knock it up in 2 minets.

[scuba]

could we possibly melt down the iron? volumn I is missing and we have part of volumn II so there must be a volumn III. u can not have just 2 volumns. wherehave u brought us?

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

I love Fath's obsession with Brass. I wonder if the map even has any sphalerite? He'll be mighty pleased to hear it, I'm sure!

There will only be more brass.

[Iituem]

The quite sad thing is that I've been stuck indoors with rain today, so I actually have a few updates "buffered".  A lot more of this is turning out to be story material than I had originally planned, which really slows down the pace at which events happen (in terms of calendar dates) in the fortress.  I end up playing for a few months of game time, then something happens which is noteworthy and I pause and scribe the event.  Then suddenly I realise I need to go back and fill in additional characterisation along the way, and that means I end up having to write up several entries of story before I can actually play any further.

Possibly this will decrease as the fortress matures and I will get more scope for Migrursut-style epic storytelling, but the early years (certainly once the pre-scripted events set in!) are looking like they could turn very very busy indeed.

Next update will be whenever I feel enough time has passed to merit one, really.   
I have quite a bit of free time at the moment (jobseeking!), so I'm trying not to establish a quickfire update schedule which will have to be scaled back once I actually get busy again.

[Riversand]

Hey, just to let you know my dwarf is Karana, my forum id is Rivesand... i think you mixed things up, Iituem.

[Iituem]

4th Obsidian, 352

"Whatcha workin' on?" piped up a tinny voice from behind Fath's back.  The engineer raised a bushy red eyebrow and turned around from the workbench to see a small, almost childlike silver-bearded young dwarf watching him like a hawk.  Fath vaguely recognised it as being Yngwie, the girl who perpetually seemed to be hanging onto Ousire's dress hem.

"An engine that'll think for itself," answered Fath.  "I've been doing the best I can with these here stone parts, but I really need brass-"

"Why?" asked Yngwie.

"Well, I could make springs, and there'd be less friction issues with the gears, and the temperature issues would be solved-"

"Why?"

"Well, brass has a lower coefficient of friction, so-"

"No, I mean why are you making a thinking engine?"

"What?  I don't know!  It's just there in my head and I want to make it happen!"

"Ohh, so you're mad," said Ynwie sagely.  Fath twitched, his hand involuntarily reaching for a spanner.

"I'm not m-"

"It's okay," Yngwie cut in.  "I'm mad too."  Fath's hand paused over the spanner handle.

"Er, y'are?  How do you figure that, lassie?"

"Well, people tell me I'm mad, so I suppose I must be.  That nice cooking fellow, Urgie, he's mad too.  It's okay, I understand."  Yngwie smiled cheerfully.

"So..." said Fath, drawing his hand away from the spanner and looking at Yngwie like some manner of strange new creature, "why do people tell you you're mad?"

"Well, I saw things the way they should be and tried to put them right!  Same as you, same as Urgie.  I see people's faces the way they should be and I try to fix them.  Urgie sees what nice pieces of art people would make and, when he got the chance, tried to fix that too.  You see that machines should think in a world where they don't, so you try and fix that!"

"That's not really...  I mean, I'm just trying to show them..."

"You're mad, mister Fath!  And that's okay!  Do you know why it's okay?"  Fath shook his head, bewildered by the young metalworker in front of him.  She spread her arms and beamed like the sun.

"Because we'll show them, mister Fath!  We'll show them all."



14th Obsidian, 352

Khain dropped into the seat at the Beerhall, battered and bruised in his leather armour but satisfied.  His neighbour, Kulet, had a distinctly more dour expression and handed him a cup of rum.  Khain grunted to the dwarf and took the cup, drinking thirstily.

"Bloody knackering session today," rumbled Khain.  "Captain bloody reaps you with her sword if you put a foot wrong, but so help me it works."

"Reckon they're okay sorts, then?" enquired Kulet, eyes on his own cup.

"So far as I've seen," said Khain cautiously.  "The captain seems fair enough, at any rate."

"There's all sorts said about that one.  Apparently she fought in the war with the Granite Spider, over a century back.  That much seems accurate, she's old enough."

"Don't know about the rest of the town though.  This leader, Emerin, half the time it seems like she lets the creepy firecap girl make the decisions, and the other half there's some miner telling her what to do.  Who put her in charge, anyway?  Makes me nervous, that sort of thing."  Khain shrugged, dismissing the paranoia with another quaff of rum.  "At least it's been a good day.  How was yours?"

"Let me see," mused Kulet.  "I cut some diorite blocks, then hauled some diorite, then put some of those blocks into a wall...  oh, yes!  I cut a bit of microcline at one point.  That was the highlight of the day.  It's been absolutely thrilling."

"So you're getting into this whole stoneworking thing, then?"

"What?  No!  By Nish's eastward gaze, Khain, you can learn how to gut a man with a tablespoon but you can't pick up sarcasm?"  Kulet muttered and took another drink.  "It's driving me insane, all this bloody blockwork.  They say it's for industry, but it's all bloody Nakasians around here!  I've seen their leader, this holy dwarf Karana's work.  It's marvellous craftsmanship, Khain, you wouldn't believe it, but what do they do with the proceeds?  Piss it all up against the bloody wall, that's what!  There's no re-investment, no infrastructure being developed here.  Bloody Nakasians spend it all on parties."

"Well, the captain says that Emerin girl is trying to get wagons to get us all out of here, so she hasn't spent much time worrying about infrastructure."

"Get us all out?  Where is she going to send us?  The home country's ruled by a bloody elf now and every other direction is sand, barren rock or swamp!  We can't even take the swamp route because that's Kulettögum's territory and they're hardly going to take any foreign immigrants, are they?  We're bloody stuck here, and it's time the leadership around here realises it."

"Aye, well," mumbled Khain.  "Good luck with that."

"What?  You don't think this is a problem?"

"Aye, but I learnt a long time ago about the dangers of rash actions.  Doesn't matter what it is, how good the intent is, people get hurt.  So me, I'm sticking to my training and my spear, alright?  Get a little hunting done, if I can.  You want change around here, you want industry?  Make it happen."  Khain sniffed, draining the last of his mug.  He stood up and turned to go.

"Where are you off to?" asked Kulet irritably.

"Bunks.  You should too, it's getting late."

"Bah."  Kulet waved a hand dismissively.  "Night, Khain."

"Night, Kul."



Vignette:  The Prospect of Freedom
28th Obsidian, 352

"Two years," pronounced Fath.  "I cannae believe it, laddie."

"Neither can I," rumbled Broose.  The pair of them were sat atop the slaughterhouse roof, watching the revelries below.  Half the community were singing songs and dancing in the Nakasian temple whilst the other half were doing the exact same thing but louder in the Beerhall.

"Where were ye, two years ago?" asked Fath.

"In a hole in the ground, waiting for the Hammer.  Well, I guess you could say I was in a hole in the ground, in a hole in the ground, waiting for the Hammer.  If you wanted to be crass."

"Aye, I hear ye.  I were workin' in a sewage hub, did y'know that?  Pumpin' bleedin' dwarven waste eighteen hours a day.  Feels like a lifetime ago, now."

"Feels like yesterday to me," grunted Broose.

"That's just old age catching up to you," came a voice from behind them.  Broose glanced back to see a grinning Loksvig and a rather red-faced, happy-looking and exceedingly sloshed Emerin draped over him.

"Can it," returned Broose, "or my axe'll be catching up to you instead.  Thought you two were at the party."

"We snuck away for a little alone time," said Eremin, bursting into a rather girlish giggle before swigging from the skin of gin she had on hand.  "What are you two up to?"

"Aye," chuckled Loksvig.  "Have you finally found love in a highland dwarf's flaming red beard, Broose?  I always knew the tension between the two of you would reach a head eventually, so to speak."  Broose made a one-digit gesture that brought another set of giggles from the inebriated jewel thief.  Fath fortunately didn't seem to have a clue what was being implied and was attempting to work it out when Urgash, Danielle and Frey clambered up the ladder onto the roof.

"Couldn't wait to get out of that party," muttered Frey, whose shirt looked to have been freshly washed whilst he was still in it.  "Bloody pirate girl can't hold more than fifteen rounds, threw the lot up all over me."

"Only got to ilmenite, then?" asked Broose casually.  Frey nodded.

"Aye, and she didn't even get to the gold-plated hubcaps or the wench with the pigtailed beard.  Datan picked up the slack, though, and the captain had no trouble putting down a whole barrel herself."

"How was the party over at the shrine?" asked Loksvig of the other two newcomers.

"Nowhere near enough firecaps at the buffet," sighed Danielle.  "Otherwise, a good spread."

"I got talking to this charming girl called Yngwie," said Urgash, completely oblivious of the raised eyebrow Danielle gave him.  "She was saying how people's bone structure is always never quite right, and how if people would just let her chisel it straight, everyone would look so much prettier.  Once the scars healed over.  Of course, I wholeheartedly agreed."

"You did?" asked Emerin, grimacing at the visions this conjured up.

"Oh, yes.  Would save me a lot of work carving the totems later on."

"What tot-"

"Moving swiftly onwards," prompted Frey, "the forge shaft is nearly ready.  All that needs finishing are the platforms and you shall soon have all those springs you've been wanting, Fath."

"Ah, me beard is aflame wi' joy!" cried out Fath.

"Really?" said Loksvig.  "I thought you were born that way."

"Which means," pressed Frey, "we'll be able to complete the wagon.  After the stunt that carpenter Pepta pulled we have barely enough wood for one, but she's more than willing to build it himself to the highest standards.  This is it, guys.  We're nearly there."

"Wow," murmured Emerin.  "Hard to believe we'll be leaving it all behind."

"I doubt it'll go unused.  A lot of the migrants really aren't even that bothered about getting out."

"How?  It's a desert.  It bakes in summer and freezes in winter, and nothing in between.  There's not even anything here."

"There's food," explained Frey, "and water.  Trade, too, thanks to us.  We've managed to scrape past basic survival here, Em.  They have a wall, defenders, a mushroom cave.  Even a forge, when we're gone.  In a strange way, they may prefer this barren hole to the homelands."

"Why?"

"Because it's theirs.  It's home, now, for those whose homes are lost to the winds.  We may wish to move on, to pursue our dreams elsewhere, but for many of these dwarves this is their dream."

"So what do we do about them?"

"We leave it to them, Em.  Captain Ragna is a natural leader, almost as much as you.  She has their respect, she'll manage okay with the place.  When the wagon is ready, we can just take off quietly, say we're going to find more wood like you said.  We'll be able to skip town without a fuss, ride onwards to Abbeyverse and to our futures."

"That what we're going to do, then?" Emerin asked.  Or is it, she thought privately, what you'll buy?  There was a murmur of muted assent from the others as if the thought of escape, so close now, seemed distant.  Frey raised his wineskin.

"To the future, then," he toasted.  "To getting out of here."

The seven of them touched mugs and skins and drank, looking out over the scenes of revelry in a deepening silence, each of them lost in thought.


The Encampment in 353

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Oops, that I did.  A little embarassing, given that 'Rivesand' actually got a spot of characterisation in the update.  I replaced him with good old Kulet instead.

[Enzo]

I think the conversation between Yngwie and Fath is my favourite part so far. Just...so great.
That shrine there is quite a piece of work. With the shaft and all. You chose a fun map. It has goblins, right? Urgash seems creatively stifled by the lack of humanoid corpses.

[Kanute]

I'm biased and I liked this one the most: Yngwie saying "We'll show them all" is excellent! I really like the interactions of the slightly (or not so slightly) deranged dwarves. The setup sorts out the innocent from the criminal and the insane, and then forces them to work together.

I really enjoy this, and I definitely would not mind quickfire updates!