Journal ExcerptsI have taken control of the Overseer's quarters from Samrist. It's quite comfortable. This position has its perks.
The leader of the Mason's Guild, Cog Racksects, a dwarf I've only recently formally met, is the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on.
She speaks with the eloquence of elves, but with the fire of a dwarf. The sight of her fills me with a coldness that threatens to paralyze my spine and throw shivers down my limbs. Her intellect is keener than the sharpest blade, and when her eyes take hold of mine, it is as though every secret I have is laid bare to her, and with it there is an understanding of power, as if with a glance it is known I am hers.
Of course, she is the lover of Militia Commander Krimson. I cannot hate the dwarf, no matter how I'd like to. He's a noble enough sort. I might admit his death would be a boon if not for the sadness it would bring to bear, but to him I'll bear no ill will. For now, all I can do is watch from a distance and wait for my time.
It is fortunate I write this journal in code. It would be less fortunate if others could read it.
In other news,
we have no doctor. Not a suturer nor a bone setter nor even a bloody nurse. Oglokoog has been declared Chief Medical Dwarf, but he doesn't know medicine any better than the rest of us, he just happens to be the dwarf willing to stain his hands in the attempt. Let us hope practice perfects.
This morning there came excited shouts from the beach -- skeletal muskoxen were sighted near the front gates. They attacked the elves that were lingering about our trade depot. The elves and their animals were quickly and noisily maimed by one of the skoxen that passed through the entrance platform. This is just how I hoped my first day on the job would turn out.
While the wounded lay moaning outside, Commander Krimson assembled the Battlefailed militia. "The Good Rocks," they call themselves. So adorable. Ten brazen dwarves prepared to hurl themselves at a terrifying enemy without even a weapon to shake. I would admire their courage if I didn't marvel at their stupidity.
Skeletons are strange creatures. Despite their lack of muscles, they are unspeakably strong. As an example of this, Tolbul the swordsdwarf was thrown over the side of a wall by the skox. Three more dwarves piled on top of the creature, trying to wrestle it to the ground and immobilize it. After sighting the struggle, the rest of the fort descended into free panic.
Someone kept shouting, "The skeleton is bleeding!
The skeleton is bleeding!"
Kikrost and Krimson have suffered severe injuries to their legs before the beast suddenly stopped struggling, its sinister energies spent. Its rear right hoof lay scant inches from its face when it finally gave in.
We recovered our wounded, but before long, more skoxen appeared.
I ordered the drawbridge raised and the doors sealed. I remember thinking those stupid elves could fend for themselves, and hoped they'd distract the monster long enough to cut ourselves off.
Alas, the bridge was pulled too late, and a skox was locked inside as it raised. An elf and his donkey who had been standing on the bridge before it lifted were thrown into the air to land on the ground with an outspoken crunch. Trapped along with the skox were some wounded elves and their pockmarked animals.
A couple unfortunate dwarves are stuck outside with the rest of the skoxen. May Lur have pity on them and grant them quick release.
Concerned, I persuaded a nearby dwarf to make a noble sacrifice for the good of the fort.
Catten was just a lowly soap maker in life, a peasant of no consequence or significance whatsoever. Ambitionless, he would have drifted through life without purpose before dying of old age, alone and forgotten. Today, on what might have been be the last day of his life, that fate would be forever altered.
Samrist and Ilmoren locked themselves inside the fishing platform away from the rampaging skox, while Catten makes a hopeless stand against it, buying time until the rest of the militia arrives.
As I write, he is slowly dying, blissfully unconscious after the pain in his shattered leg caused him to pass out. His throat has been gored, and he appears to be struggling for breath as blood pools in the wound. The astute may be wondering how I know this.
I'm watching from above, of course. That is my job, after all.
* * *
Thanks, Oglokoog. I've taken your advice into account. So, the military had to fight the skoxen bare-fisted because the arsenal dwarf didn't have time to prepare the new manifests before the battle started. The oxen were attacking as soon as I unpaused to play. I wish they'd have the autonomy to grab a weapon in an emergency without waiting for bureaucratic approval, but such is the life of a dwarf.
I had to throw the whole jealous infatuation thing in there. It was too appropriate, given my dwarf's relationship sheet (he's a furtive, introspective, socially-awkward dwarf with two real friends, one of them is her, and he worships the god of jealousy, whereas she worships a fertility deity -- a Venus if there ever was one. Combined with her collection of Elite Wrestler and high society friends and her military lover, it's just perfect.
Anyhow, more to come.
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Topic: Battlefailed (Succession) Legendary Clusterf**k, free for all reclaim (Read 631501 times)