Journal of Overseer Creiydrek Yearrings, Excerpts
MalachiteAs tradition dictates, I met with the new mayor on the first of the new month.
Yes, mister Mayor, I think we can manage that one.
4th MalachiteTwo days ago I was taking a trip through Upper Battlefailed to check up on Edzul, when I came across an unsettling coffin with some very queer etchings.
It had stars and crescents and circles and whatnot, but there were eyes and letters both foreign and rote; and what looked to be dried blood set in the depressions. It was just strange. I can't tell if I'd rather put it in my new room or dump it in the magma sea. I think I'll leave it there for now.
Ah, yes, my new room. For the sake of my mental health I have moved into some very nice open quarters.
It's quite comfortable here. The clothes of a former occupant lie scattered across the floor, and I've been using them to wipe my feet clean every night.
A couple of similar rooms have been dug out nearby and will be adorned with the finest luxuries we can provide. We have the wealth, and it's worth more to us now if enjoyed and not hoarded.
Meng has been fired.
A wounded dwarf who's struggled for breath the last fifteen weeks finally passed away. He threw a bucket at the doctor's head just before moving on, earning himself a glorious tomb I'll build when things settle down in the future.
In light of the doctor's consistent ineptitude, the previous mayor has been selected as our new physician. It's about damn time. She is highly untrained but at least she's reliable. I went to the hospital to give Meng the good news myself, but as luck would have it, he wasn't there.
I wish he'd just die already.
8th MalachiteThis afternoon I met with some of the workers, trying see if I can provide anything to make their lives just that much easier. Like most days, this one ended with a splitting headache and the need to drink more beer than the night before.
Fikod is becoming confrontational with me, the person who saved him from a dead-end job as a Siege Engineer. Take it from an expert, that boy was going nowhere in a hurry. He's not even that great of a miner.
Either some hope to emulate the success of Twobeard by redefining themselves, or there is a new form of madness looming over us. I've read once that a common human reaction to stress is to alter one's personality into one more suited to its circumstances. This is not common for dwarves, as the state of our home indicates.
Zan zodost geshud Nokzamungèg.First was the peasant woman, who accosted me and said she would no longer bear my tyranny, and declared she was signing up with Ilmoran to learn masonry. "Whatever," I told her exactly.
She was followed by the planter, who now goes by the name "Lucus Casius." She had some interesting requests.
The next day, the Babysaver introduced herself as "Oglokoog" and said she is now a male and a miner by trade. She probably got the name from one of the two coffins bearing it. The new projects could certainly use the assistance, so I've given her my blessing. We certainly have enough picks to go around.
Finally, we have the brewer, who answers to "Nightmarebros" (night-mare-bros); who just had to put her clothes back on and make everyone feel uncomfortable.
10th MalachiteBrowsing the fortress records, I was impressed by Zon's list of accomplishments.
A few entries of my own were added, such as a note to all future overseers never to let Kubuk near the elves again. He and I had an actual conversation several hours ago, the first one we've had since the elves were massacred. He told me the elves had it coming, and that he is an enemy of the Veiled Beans, and will always be their enemy, and that whenever they come here he will attempt to injure them. That is, if the elves ever come back again, but why shouldn't they? These were not the first elves to fall at Battlefailed.
They know what to expect here.
16th MalachiteMy attention has turned again to the two miners in their static purgatory. I just hope they have no idea of what state they're in.
Resuming my efforts to free the Arena's captives requires siege weaponry. Today I asked our Chief Engineer Meng (how I hate that name) to craft a ballista.
When the founders named this place, I am sure they envisioned this moment. Somehow, with literal tons of metal at our disposal, not one of our twelve previous overseers ever put together the three measly ballista parts we happen to need right now? No ballista parts. What are we, elves?
Well, what about --
-- oh fuck you, you know that? Why don't you just build the damn parts you need when I ask for the bloody engine?!
Here, I'll put it in writing.
. Fools! I am surrounded by them.
Before long I discovered other items we're somehow lacking, or in short supply of, so I'll be busy juggling schedules in the office for most of the month. I'm going to need some of that numbing powder.
28 MalachiteIlmoran renewed my faith in the dwarven race by producing some beautiful furniture for the new wing. Some choice favorites have been sent to my room. Due to a fortunate lack of patients, our new doctor is decorating the new pieces with the bone hoard we have by the fort entrance. Our miners and masons are all on new projects, food and booze production is positive, and we're starting to feel cheer again. We are doing it. We are making a comeback.
What in the Windy...
...Oh
So, the entire ocean is pouring into our bone yard, and it's spreading the blood and beast powder and grime all over everything in its path, and the place impossibly smells more hideous than before. It just goes to show you there's always a new low to sink to when you aren't very careful to tell the miners NOT to flood your home.
I suppose Fikod's not entirely to blame. If we're all going to die then at least I'm dying an honest dwarf: I told him to channel a bit of the shoreline so that when we fall into the ocean, we can actually have a chance at getting out instead of
drowning every time. Now perhaps this was unnecessary, but if it saves lives, it saves lives! The point is, I told him to slope the shore. I did
not tell him to flood the fort. I prepared a diagram of the accident to help explain my blunder to the liaison when I am forced to.
There comes a point in every dwarf's life when they must ask of themselves, "Am I loony?" I thought on that question many times before today, but there is a difference between thinking about a question and really, truly asking it of yourself, demanding an answer. I found that point today, when I watched as the raging water transformed our entrance into a ponderous vat of filth.
What was I still doing here? I wondered. I could run away, grab one of the many suits of armor and an axe that lay unused in the arsenal and flee this awful place. They'd think I'd gone mad, no one would question it. No one would miss me that much for that long.
I did arm myself, but I did
not leave. I am Creiydrek Yearrings, not Creiydrek the Beardless.
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Topic: Battlefailed (Succession) Legendary Clusterf**k, free for all reclaim (Read 631415 times)