I just realized as I went to write this update that I’ve taken painfully few screenshots. I’ll have to work on that.
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12th Limonite, 11~We saw them following along the mountain’s base. Finally. Oh gods, how we had waited.
The wagons were packed so full that their wares were visible from our little outpost. Coils of rope, barrels of meat, rare gems, and anvils. Ohhhh, anvils.
“See that, Jyr? That’s your future right there on those carts.”
Jyrvus stared out across the jungle with me. “Yep. I suppose that would be indeed be a truth.”
A funny dwarf. Was never anything but calm, peaceful, and worry-free. Practically my exact opposite, yet we got along superbly. “Listen, this mining business… you don’t mind, do you? I mean, we need to get some stone from
somewhere, and you were the only guy around without something consistent to do, so…”
“Don’t mind t’all,” he said. And that was that. I’d assigned Jyrvus to carving out a strip mine a few months earlier, and admittedly, he’d gotten quite good at it, but he didn’t seem satiated with the job. Perhaps he just missed the heat of a forge.
We watched the caravan make its way closer… closer… I stirred suddenly, feeling that something was off.
“Jyr,” I asked, “does… does it seem like those wagons are passing awfully close to the magma pipe to you?”
Jyr took a swig from his mug. “I might very well say that, yep.”
“And you don’t have a problem with this?”
“I ain’t the one riding on the wagons.” He swung his pick off his shoulder and trotted off, presumably to return to his digging. I was on edge, finding it impossible to relax as Jyrvus did. The zombie imps could ambush the caravan at any time. One second the merchants were safe, and the next… pow. Raining fire all around you. A dwarf had to keep his wits about him in a dangerous environment like this.
Oddly enough, they made it through just fine, driving up over the short bridge into our new palisade. I’ve no idea what the imps were up to when the caravan drove by. I noticed Bodark was busy setting up the new stables, so I quickly went to meet the traders myself and see about getting an anvil.
“Hey there, suckers,” laughed Kadol Blockadebanners as I approached. “So you’re the dwarves that got stuck on castle duty, eh? Looks like you’re really having a good time out here.”
His buddies were snickering behind him as they unloaded the wagons. Bastards. I changed the subject. “Kadol, it’s just so great to see you too,” I said, not wasting any amount of sarcasm. “Fabulous. Made my day, in fact. Really. Anyways. I hear you’ve got some goods for us?”
And did they ever. Armour, weaponry, food, the works. And a perfect-looking iron anvil, worth about a thousand bucks. That’d be our first purchase. “Yo, Gute, Bodark,” I called, “help me bring over the goods. Traders are here!”
Gutendorf looked at me with a dead expression on her face. “Funny, Quinn, I don’t recall making any goods. If I were you, I’d talk to the manager about it.” Bodark shrugged and gave me a thumbs up. Shit. This was my problem to sort out, I suppose.
I held up a 'one moment' hand to Kadol and hastily sped to the stockpiles, thin though they were. The only thing we had… at all, really, was cat meat. I sighed. Looks like our round, jolly figures might not be so dwarflike for the next season or two.
Rolling three barrels over, worth just enough to trade for the anvil, I attempted to recover gracefully. “Well, you see, we’ve decided that cat food’s going to be our main export here, so, uh… Anyhow, there’s a little bit of profit there, and I’ve got my eye on that nice iron anvil you got. What say we swap and you and your boys can buy a few free rounds of beer when you get home, eh?”
I was met with a dead stare. “We
got cat food, boy,” commenting one of Kadol’s cronies.
Traders. Profit wasn’t profit enough for them. Grumbling, I rolled over a fourth barrel. Kadol took his time pretending to mull it over, but I could see instantly that he intended on getting more. “You can’t be serious,” I said. “Five barrels?”
Kadol shrugged. “Hey, maybe next time have something else for us. You know? This cat food, it ain’t gonna cut it next year.”
We shook on it, and I lugged the anvil over to our furniture stockpile. I saw Jyrvus emerging from the mines and waved him over. “Jyr, take a look at this. That’s some quality work, eh? Once the mine’s cleared, you can get back to making us some weaponry and armour!”
He nodded slightly. “Sounds good, boss.” I had hoped for more of a reaction. He would’ve used the same mellow tones for “I’m dying, boss,” or “Your mother’s an elf, boss.”
I stood there a moment, and then shook my head and returned to my work. Jyrvus was a nice enough guy, but getting some sort of reaction out of him was just about impossible.
It was then that Thob Merchantbranded, our liason with the mountainhome, waltzed in.
Thob was known by first name all throughout the Fortress of Singing – he’d singlehandedly fought off an invasion of skeletal minotaur once while accompanying the king. Rumour has it that he took down the bronze colossus that laid siege on Swallowedglazed when I was a kid, and then went about his business as usual afterwards. He was a legend, albeit a rather intimidating one. As he approached, I could see that his clothes were a bit ripped up, revealing daunting muscles beneath. Though I'd intercepted the merchants, I didn't feel safe around that beast of a dwarf.
“Bodark,” I called, “You’ve got a visitor!”
The mechanic turned to see, then briskly made his way over, a beaming smile on his face. “Thob!”
“Bodie!” Thob lit up, laughing deeper than any dwarf could talk. I was stunned. Bodark knew Thob? I didn’t know Thob talked to dwarves on anything less than a businessdwarf level.
The two shook hands. I’d hate to be in the middle of a handshake like that. “Great to see you again, great to see you, how are things? How’s the mountainhome? Zas treating you well? Bit of a grouch, that one. Ah, but what am I saying, I haven’t introduced you! Here, this is Quinn. He’s the manager around here, gets things done. Quite a fellow, eh? A bit stringy, you know, but he’s a good chap. Here, let’s head inside, I’ll have Gutendorf fetch some roasts for you…”
Their voices trailed off as they headed inside the cabin, which was still somewhat roofless. I was stunned. Who exactly
was Bodark back in the mountainhome? He’d dodged every question about his old life I’d thrown at him so far. I figured they’d be meeting at the dining table, so I decided to pretend to do some records work there as well.
Following them inside, their voices grew audible again. “So I say, ‘listen, you mangy beast, you take another sideways look at my dinner and I’ll beat you down with your own leg! And the thing—allright, allright, get this—the thing goes and
piddles itself!”
They both erupted into laughter. Thob was telling some sort of story about his travels. I made my way to the far end of the table and started taking inventory of the booze we had left, trying not to make myself look conspicuous. I doubt they would’ve cared.
Thob wiped away some light tears, his laughter shaking the table gently. “Ah, children. But enough about the kids. How’s life out here treating you, eh Bodie?”
Bodark shrugged, smiling. “Ah, you know, it’s a far cry from the mountainhome, but if you can sleep through the eagle cries at night, you rest just as well.”
Thob nodded sagely. “True, true as truth gets. But let’s get down to business, huh? I gotta get over to Palaceboats inna next few weeks, and they live way out ‘cross that haunted lake.” He pull out some papers and unrolled. “Right! So what’ll it be?”
The two quickly descended in lulled business tones, just a bit too quiet to hear. They were talking extremely rapidly. I thought about heading outside to see how the stables were coming along, when Bodark stood angrily. “Son of an elf! 198% for iron bars? They’re not worth
160%!”
“We ain’t gonna lug no iron nowhere for 160! 185, and no lower!”
“172! I know you take 5% off the top!”
“179, and that’s eatin’ an elf!”
“176 or nothing!”
“Deal!”
They shook hands furiously, then Bodark sat back down. Suddenly the atmosphere seemed so jovial again. “Well!” he said. “Quinn, why don’t you head out and see what’s taking Gutes so long with the roasts, eh? We’ve got some more business to do.”
I blinked, then backed my way out of the cabin. That was enough excitement for me.
Thob left the next morning before I’d gotten up. I asked Bodark how he knew the great liason. “Oh, you know, you meet people here and there,” was the only answer I got. Curious. Curious indeed.
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A second update to follow shortly, which should take us to winter, then I'll address questions and dorfings.
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Topic: The Castle Mightygrips: Cancelled. [community] (Read 48013 times)