The first thing the new arrivals noticed about Screampacks was the smell.
Wafting from the kitchen came the unmistakable aroma of culinary genius at work. But mingling with that was the harsh odor of decay. A baker's dozen dead elven warriors littered the streets outside the inn and scattered through the rest of the town.
This was the first indication the migrants had that moving here may not have been entirely safe.
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A flickering candle dimly illuminated the wooden walls of Bengali's small room. He sat, resting, in a ritual he'd performed many times, familiar and simple. It merely consisted of reading a score of pages. Most cats weren't big on reading, being perfectly happy to leave that to a few elites, but Bengali was different. And, these pages were important.
The pages were also old, very old. They'd obviously had a long history, and were mended in quite a few places. In fact, one could barely tell from looking at them that they had been removed some time ago from a book. Bengali himself had done so, on his first visit to Screampacks three years ago. He'd been alone then, and didn't stay long. This time, though, he was here to stay. The plan, although not of his own devising, was important enough for him. He'd stay until his bones rotted here, and even then he intended for his effect to remain. History was in the making, and he stood at the spearfront.
It all went back to those pages. What his ancestors started, he intended to set back in motion.
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Integration of the newcomers proved no difficult task. They quickly learned that Bengali was the boss, and Frogwarrior liked it when you pretended he was. The migrants were given the special privilege of performing certain less-than-enjoyable tasks; moving the workshops around to efficiently use space, setting up the last of the furniture in the dining room, and the like. Bengali then ordered most of them to work on construction, both starting a building he referred to as the "palace" and, for some reason, a giant wall around the south end of the town.
Frogwarrior was told to get started mining for stone and ores, and any gems he came across. This was not met without some grumbling.
Bengali had one more facet of his plan he wanted to set in motion. As Natalie was wounded, there was currently no source of leather, which he needed to outfit the army he planned on raising. Hrraspmurrren was volunteered, and outfitted with a blowgun and leather armor.
Late in the spring, Torture was woken in the middle of the night, struck by a sudden idea. He rushed to his workshop, and hurriedly began sketching mysterious diagrams and muttering. Soon he went down to his storeroom to look for materials.
And came up empty-handed. "Where's the shells," he muttered. "Only shell has the right shape for this... I must find one!" His voice raised into a shout, "I MUST HAVE SHELLS!"
Everyone gave him a wide berth, leaving him to rave in his workshop. But at least some made a point to eat turtle at their next meal to placate him.
And thus, spring gave way to summer.
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Topic: Screampacks. Dwarves repelled, once again. Only 4 cats lost! (Read 27520 times)