Sethrist Oraclefortress, Expedition Leader's Log, Granite 21, 511 -----
After our long journey, we finally arrived at the place Her Majesty the Bitch told us about. The Blueness of Malodors. It's the ugliest place I have ever been. The shoreline is just a barren rocky slope dipping into a murky sea that smells of turpentine and rotting old sweet pods. Malodors indeed. That confounded liaison will be hearing from me when he gets here.
This place has a horrible reputation. The fortress of Battlefailed (if it even still exists) is supposed to be nearby, but there's no other settlement for miles, so unless we make contact, we're on our own until Autumn. We have a lot of work to do. I've been surveying the land while some of the wrestlers break down the wagon. My cat's run off somewhere, I'm a little worried about her, but to be honest I don't yet see what all the fuss is about. It's just a smelly old beach with a moldy old keep in the distance to the west, and a few roaming white musk oxen near to the south. What in the sunny hells are those things?!
A great skeletal monster charged across the beach toward us, goring Deduk the blacksmith before anyone could react. Several more of the creatures came into view surrounding us as Deduk screamed like an elfwench. While the warriors among us rushed to defend our camp, the rest of us ran for safety to the northern shore.
The smith bled to death during the fighting.
Once the undead muskoxen were finally driven off, another herd of skeletal beasts ambushed our beleaguered guards. The battle was horrible. They make a sound like that of a cave lobster boiling alive, if a thousand times louder and marked by the rattling of bones. They stomped our able-bodied dwarves into whimpering paste before they turned their wrath on the wagon and smashed up all our supplies.
Two kittens bravely stood their ground against a skorse before teaching it what kittens taste like.
Enraged, the peasant woman Adil bore down on one of the brutes without assistance.
That ended predictably.
I'm not sure how we have survived. Eleven of us were here an hour ago; now four remain: Myself, the Glassmaker, the other Peasant and the Tanner. What the hell was the Queen thinking? A dwarven paradise? Not that I had believed her, but one would think she'd maybe mention the local HORDE OF EVIL before sending us off on our way.
Actually, now that I really think about it, I know exactly what she was thinking. "I hate dwarves and I want them to die."
I've been digging down into the dry cliff away from the evil surface as fast as I can. I wanted to explore the land and find Battlefailed, but that will have to wait. We daren't leave the relative safety of our hideaway and risk drawing the skorses' attentions.
There's no good food or water above ground, so we've got to reach the caverns below, and its fresh water and mushrooms, before we end up looking like our friends outside.
-=-=-=-=-
Meanwhile, deep within Battlefailed...-=-=-=-=-
Journal of Creiydrek Yearrings, Overseer and Talented Siege Operator, Excerpts -----
When the dust finally settled after the Great Berserking, there were only forty-nine of us left. Forty-nine Dwarves, when last year there lived and worked over a hundred. And more than half of 'em killed, not by misfortune or in the defense of our home, but at the hands of their own friends and neighbors. I ask you, journal, what is the point of all our walls and defenses if our greatest enemies are already among us?
The once proud City of Battlefailed has withered into a zoo of horrors soaked with the tears and cruelty of mad dwarves. The shrieking of the tormented throughout can be heard at all hours of day, bouncing through the halls of stone to threaten every ear still lucid enough to be troubled by hearing it. Wherever one goes, one may expect to find old stains of blood or bones whose owners have long been forgotten.
It's glorious.
It's perfect, in fact. Where else could a fella like me become Overseer of the entire stinking Fortress? It isn't the spiffiest place, I'll admit that cleanly. In fact, not a single other dwarf wanted the damn job, and who can blame them? Someone's gonna be held responsible for this mess. Any dwarf'll do for now, and I did. I can live like a king while all these screw-ups waste each other. There aren't too many dwarves left to manage, who haven't completely lost their marbles, anyway. I just need to figure out who to keep happy with what excuses and let the good times roll.
Good news, everyone! Monom's gone apeshit!
Our Captain of the Guard rammed her mace into the metalsmith with such gusto that in the end there was little left of him but some bloody rags and a smear on the floor. Sigun is one dwarf I intend to keep happy.
Instead of updating our stockpile records like I asked him to, our Hoardmaster had been spending his time lying in the entrance hall, throwing silver arrows at passers-by. This did not amuse the guards on patrol duty.
Compared to the carnage of the previous weeks, the first days of my term have been wonderful. If things stay this marvelous I may just have to retire early.
Nearby elsewhere...
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Topic: Battlefailed (Succession) Legendary Clusterf**k, free for all reclaim (Read 631406 times)