Yeah, both of the names were randomly generated. Screamtortures was a randomly generated name when I started a cat fortress, and Screampacks was the original name of the town. Coincidences happen, I guess.
Anyway, new update. I apologize to all my readers for the wait. All 6 of you.
From the journal of Frogwarrior Plaitedmelted, Sucker
4 Felsite
Curse these infernal records and their writers!
For two weeks I have pored over the records of the last decade of Screampacks' existence, searching for any clue at all as to why it was abandoned. Naturally, I've found nothing of any use whatsoever! In fact, my search has only raised more questions, which I also have no found the answers to! Whatever I expected to find, that Screampacks was abandoned because of disease, famine, or even something as boring as economic stagnation, or more likely destroyed from within by ulterior motives - I found nothing of the sort. I think it most likely that the accursed magma vent is related, though I cannot fathom how.
But what little can be gleaned from the records beyond the boring minutia of life suggests that before its abandonment, Screampacks was flourishing. Extravangantly so, even; the last mayor referred to the fact that they were frequently having great banquets that would attract visitors from all over. With such luxury, one might suspect that they were perishing due to excessive laziness, but all relevant accounts say quite the opposite - that near the end, the citizens of Screampacks were bustling indeed! Which again might imply some sort of class warfare where the higher castes do nothing but feast all day while the lower castes slave away to support them, but the records portray several prominent citizens - even the Mayor - as the hardest-working individuals at all! No, the only trouble that can be gleaned from the records is the complaint that they were having trouble finding enough utensils for their banquets!
I am close to going mad. I'm not even sure I can trust the official records anymore, but all my searches for hidden records have been fruitless. I must turn to another pursuit before the gods claim me.
End Journal Entry
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From the journal of Torture Burstnight
10 Felsite
At last, I am finally beginning to enjoy my stay in this town. Although I know my solitude will eventually be harder to obtain, at the moment there is only me and my work. Alone, with the bones.
Truly, bone is the substance of life. All living creatures worth noting derive their shape from it, all things that die decay 'til naught is left but the pure bones. There is no better medium for Art, indeed no more noble occupation, than to by tedium and loving care shape the sacred whiteness, to mold life's framework after patterns of my own will. Through this Art, my imagination may take a life of its own. But I have no desire to hoard my creations, I am not so selfish as that. No, by spreading my living passions, my thoughts given solid form in living bone, across the earth, I have the chance to inspire others to follow after my example. No more sacred duty in all the world exists than for me to allow my white stuff to give new life to as many individuals as possible.
Of course, for me to get the raw materials for my trade, many living things must be sacrificed - 'tis right and fair that it be so. The reason for this mystery is plain from something I observed recently. I happened to pass through the inn, and observed Amalgam and 100killer9 relaxing after a sparring match. I always appreciate taking a few minutes to watch them in action, as I know that eventually, especially if what Bengali told me is true, they will be a good source of many bones indeed. And yet, I was as stirred to see them not sparring as I ever am to see the fight - for I noticed something I had not before, that their camaraderie was evidently more than merely that of battle brothers.
The mystery of bone can be seen in those two. Engines of death by trade and experience, and yet there is much life in them. This is the parable of all things; that death and life are oft entwined. And this no less so in my trade. For me to spread my life, many, many must die. As it is in the nature of bones themselves.
Bone, the remains of the dead.
Bone, the substance of the living.
End Journal Entry
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Summer came in its time, bringing with it its usual changes in weather, oppressive heat, torpitude, and really relaxing catnaps. This summer, however, brought something new to Screampacks that had not visited in years. Three somethings, in fact, crept towards the old shop that the new residents were keeping all their goods in. It was a couple weeks ago that a scout had reported to the kobold camp that the empty town of Screampacks had been resettled. These three had volunteered to "investigate" the settlement - and, of course, take anything that wasn't nailed down or being watched.
However, one of the residents was no stranger to the inevitability of kobold attention, and was even smart enough to guess about when they might be arriving. So Bengali had ordered the two warriors Amalgam and 100killer9 to pause in their sparring for a couple weeks to guard the warehouse.
In typical kobold fashion, the intruders had split up to best avoid detection, to foment healthy competition, and of course to make betrayal less likely. One of them arrived well ahead of the other two, luckily arriving at just the wrong time for the patrolling beasts to notice.
The second kobold was not so lucky, and in rounding a corner ran straight into a ferocious feline warrior.
Amalgam yowled a ferocious battle cry that drowned out the kobold's scream of terror, and pounced. Thrifikidraynkis felt fangs sink deep into her leg, and she hacked desparately at Amalgam's head while trying to scrabble away. She screamed again when the cat ripped out a piece of her calf, but this gave her the chance to run. And run she did, right into 100killer9, who took out her left eye.
They were merciful, in that they only kept the kobold alive to wallow in her own guts for a scant few minutes before 100killer9 finished the job. The third kobold, who disagreed, left without a trinket to show for it.
Bengali watched the whole scene with immense pleasure. "I certainly picked the right cats for the job," he ruminated to himself.
Impressed by their cruelty, he held a celebration ten days later. An extravagant feast featuring the finests of Linda's cookery was held in the new dining hall, featuring furniture Bengali had built himself.
After the meal, but before the obligatory nap, the de facto ruler of Screampacks stood up and addressed the small audience. Officially, Bengali was only the host of the celebration, but everyone knew better. He spoke:
"Friends, we've been here for only three months, and already we have much to be proud of. I think it's plain that we have the ability to equal the past glory of Screampacks, and I am sure we can in time surpass and outgrow its formerly small borders.
"But in order to make this happen, we need more than chairs, or artistic carvings, or fine leadership" (here Frogwarrior though he could detect the faintest hint of a sarcastic smirk, but could never convince himself it wasn't merely his expectation) "or even delicious meals cooked from fresh-killed animals. Like every town of The Bites of Troubling, we will eventually face trouble, and whether we are torn asunder from within as anger drives neighbor to claw at neighbor, or we are besieged by a thousand foes who hunger for naught but our blood, we need a certain kind of cat who is willing to deal with it without hesitation and without mercy. And the best kind of cat for this solemn duty is one who does not only fight out of necessity, but truly takes pleasure in it. Who better to defend us than one who enjoys it?
"And so I am pleased to see that we have not one, but two who are brave and ferocious enough to fight any who threaten us. And so I dedicate this dining hall to Amalgam and 100killer9. May their fangs ever be stained with blood!"
Frogwarrior sat silent through the cries of affirmation from the other cats. He pondered Bengali's speech, examining the structure of every sentence and placement of every word for some hidden meaning. By now, he needed no prompting to be suspicius of Bengali. "Bengali, what
are you up to?" he muttered under his breath.
Next to him, Natalie did not hear what he said at all. "I know," she replied. "Isn't he just marvelous?"
And, not far away, the watcher observed the whole proceedings. Of all the things she'd seen and heard over the past week she'd been watching, this speech was the most disturbing - even worse than the brutal killing of the kobold. But although it was somewhat refreshing to know that she was here for a good reason, the revelation that that one was indeed tainted still came as somewhat of a shock. The words were cruel, to be sure, but that was to be expected with their kind. But...
"
Whether we are torn asunder from within as anger drives neighbor to claw at neighbor, or we are besieged by a thousand foes who hunger for naught but our blood..." She had heard those exact words before. She was not happy to hear them again.
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Topic: Screampacks. Dwarves repelled, once again. Only 4 cats lost! (Read 27971 times)