By late spring, little about the current situation had changed. The survivors had managed to clean up much of the bloody mess around the fortress, but progress was slow. The carving out of coffins was slow meticulous work, and the pile of corpses seemed to be endless.
Still, nobody had perished since that tragic incident, and moods were beginning to improve. Hope was returning to The Fatal Ice.
Exilo however was becoming slightly paranoid, claiming she could hear a faint croaking echoing through the cave walls. Satori had, in her unprofessional medical opinion, concluded this to be little more than a symptom of an overly stressed mind.
But Satori is a fool. While none of the dwarves know it, a bi-tailed crocodile has taken up residence in the caverns. It has a lemony colored layer of thin fur covering its body, bearing a resemblance not unlike that of mold. Despite their ignorance of the dangers lurking below their feet, the survivors shall remain safe for the immediate future.
An elven caravan arrived, and it was obvious they were second-guessing that particular decision as they unloaded their goods.
In exchange for the tattered cloths of the fallen, a small supply of food and a wooden splint and crutch were bartered for in hopes that Shem would recover.
Sadly, I am becoming very doubtful that she will in fact recover. Satori has been neglecting her nursing duties, and Shem has been oozing blood alone in her room with virtually no dwarven contact at all. Save the flies, nobody has come to visit her in her time of need.
Satori has also become quite plump. It should be quite obvious to anyone that she is eating more than her fair share of the remaining fortress rations, and yet nobody says anything. Seeing her fills me with rage, and if it were within my power to do so, I would strike her dead.
Now, Besmar on the other hand; that is a dwarf I can admire. While the others have been slacking during this crisis, she has been doing all the hard work. Carving out the coffins, digging a well for the water to keep Shem alive, resetting the cage traps, and returning the dead to their final resting place. She is really the last sliver of light in this desolate wasteland.
Before leaving, the elves made their usual demands regarding the preservation of the local glacial forests. Given that the wood was neither needed, nor the trouble of rejecting the elves an affordable course of action, an agreement was made. They gave us their blessings, for what little an elf's blessing is worth, and were on their way.
As early summer approached, yet another forgotten denizen of the caverns made a home for themselves; this time a one-eyed falcon cyclopes with red burning feathers, a phoenix of sorts, no doubt here to burn the world as we know it to ash.
Satori caught a glimpse of it from the stairwell, and the shock of it sent her into labour. Yes, labour. As it turns out, Satori was with child -- a child conceived by my the two dwarves I hate most, and therefore the inheritor of all the rage and hatred I have for them.
Unfortunately for me and my sense of vengeance, the stairwell was sealed off, and Satori and her spawn still live.
By mid summer, the human caravan arrived, and either by incompetence or malice, they brought with them several goblin ambush parties. Besmar was resetting a cage trap at the time, and in her startled stupor managed to imprison herself in her own trap.
Fortunately for Besmar, the humans came to her rescue and defended the fortress from these foul hygiene impaired intruders, and while it took some time from Satori's busy schedule of drinking and organizing parties, she was eventually released.
In early autumn a third beast joined the ranks of its fellow monsters in the caverns, this one someone unique in that it was a formless blob of snow, no doubt right at home in the frozen wasteland we were trying to create a new start in. As usual, it and the survivors are safely isolated from each other.
Besmar tried her best to carve out a hospital, and pump water to a well, but it's clear she won't finish before the time spring arrives.
The dwarven caravan never arrived, I expect because members of the old caravan are still present and being held hostage in the fortress cage stockpile. It seemed reasonable to assume they were caged for a reason, and to err on the side of caution, lest they repay our good deeds with blood.
I have given up hope of communicating with Shem. It is clear that nobody cares for her, and without a voice, I am completely impotent. It took me a long time, but I have finally become resigned to my fate, and am preparing to move on to whatever awaits me.
May my destiny be fulfilled in a future life, and good luck to whoever has the courage to lead the survivors of The Fatal Ice out of discord to glory and riches.
OOC: Yes, I got practically nothing of value done this year. Sorry about that. The next person to play needs to do something about the growing collection of caged goblins in the stockpile.
lolghurt: I reduced your cat shrine to little more than a cage full of animals, I wanted to stop your character from partying around it. Sorries.
Save is here.
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Topic: The Fatal Ice - Succession - 31.12 (3 slots left! O:) (Read 14523 times)