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[SalmonGod]

SalmonGod scratches out the Dungeon Master posting, then seeks out Sethrist to ask for the job directly.  He's pierced nature with his bolts, now he wants to try bending it to his manly will.

[Sir Broccoli]

"Inventor"... I like the sound of that! Maybe I could invent like, a catapult that shoots ballista's... Which shoots crossbows!

I'm going to be the most awesome inventor ever! (I'm gonna need a bigger desk though. You know, for the inventions).

[kzel]

Kzel's Journal, Entry 12

This is it! The day I have been waiting for ever since I set out for this fort has finally come. Sethrist has authorized access to adamantine for the creation of weaponry. We have overflowing stocks of the metal already, but may Armok strike me if I waste but a single wafer. I shall set out at once and provide the military with weapons worthy of their skill and courage.

However, one thing still puzzles me. I have witnessed first hand the transformation, for lack of better term, of two dwarves by use of the danger room. Crumby, and now Sethrist seemed changed when they got out. Their look is more distant, their concerns apparently greater than that of a simple dwarf. I could tell, by the way our overseer tried out my gifted spear, that Sethrist had developed a handling and style foreign to me. With the rest of the military now scheduled for the same treatment, I cannot help but wonder if my crafted weapons will be fit for their hands.

As the answer to this question is crucial to the betterment of my crafts, I will request an observation room built next to the danger room, with clear glass windows allowing view into the inside of the facility while training is in session.


Kzel's Journal, Entry 13

I... have difficulty putting this in written form, but I must. I... have failed. I have failed the settlement. I have failed in upholding the tenets of the smiths. I have even failed myself.

In my over eagerness, I wasted -WASTED- adamantine by crafting a truly inferior piece. A weapon even the lowliest soldier could recognize as useless, unable to pierce rope reed cloth, unable to cut plump helmets from the ground. The truly wonderful metal cannot help when the smith isn't worthy, and I see now why Sethrist locked the precious resource away from me.

What is worse, is that I cannot see where I went wrong! I wasn't tired, the magma fire was as perfect as ever. The forges were deserted, which is good for I must dispose of the evidence discreetly or permanently lose access to the adamantine. My skill has improved tenfold over the latest months, and I have learned much from my observations of the training in the danger room, but I see now it is not enough, nowhere near enough. I fear I must gain an ever better understanding of weapon handling to truly refine my art, or be forever afraid to waste any more of our precious ore.

To truly understand what makes a good blade, I have no other choice but to learn how to wield one myself! I have commissioned the building of my office, in which a lighter version of the danger room shall be built, with sparse spears instead of the dense design the military uses. While slower, it shall prove safer and easier to learn from for one as unskilled in combat as I, especially since the use of shields or heavy armor would make the process entirely useless. The blueprints are still waiting for approval, but I document here the final drafts I came up with :

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Code: [Select]

# : wall
. : floor
v : magma forge
l : magma smelter
c : throne
t : table
y : clear glass window
L : lever linked to the (S)pears
S : upright wooden training spear
r : weapon rack

1 : upright adamantine spear
2 : weapon trap with adamantine short sword
3 : weapon trap with adamantine battleaxe
4 : weapon trap with steel warhammer

+ : door

#################
#.....#...#.....#
#.vvv.#.c.#.lll.#
#.vvv.+.t.+.lll.#
#.vvv.#...#.lll.#
#.....##+##.....#
#r.r.r#4.4#.....#
#r.r.r#3.3#+y#..#
#r.r.r#2.2#SSy.L#
#r.r.r#1.1#SSy.t#
########+########


I shall not touch adamantine again until I am ready, but postponing standing orders is not an option : all training will be done in my spare time. I can overcome this, I am certain. Once an expert in each type of weaponry, I am confident my inner understanding will help me shape weapons better than ever before. Who knows, maybe using one the foreign scavenged weapons will help me unlock the secrets of their fabrication, as they still elude me to this day.


I assume Kzel isn't legendary yet, and even so, a -superior quality- or worse will come up eventually as he forges weapons made of adamantine. When that happens, and once urgent weapons crafting needs have been fulfilled, I'd like to have him train for a month with each weapon type in a light danger room (1 spear per trap), without shield and with only basic armor (mail shirt and helm, maybe leather leggings and gloves/boots). If you can spare the time, ressources and hassle, melt the shoddy weapons away. If you have scavenged whips, daggers or pike, make him train in them as well, possibly unlocking their fabrication by modding unused reactions.

[DuckThatQuacks]

"Alright," I told the Chief Siege Engineer, "you don't like me, and I don't like you. However, the Overseer says we need to work out our disagreements on our own."

"I've stated my terms, Carpenter," he said, not looking up from the device he was tinkering with. "Have you agreed to them?"

"Mostly," I replied. "I, Head of the Carpenter's Guild, will be the bigger dwarf and acquiesce to your absurd demands for the good of the fortress."

He actually put down his tools and looked at me, his disbelief plain on his face. He was clearly shocked by my magnanimity.

"...." he said.

"However," I continued, "there are a few caveats. First, we can't have a catapult pointing at a staircase -- that's a direct violation of the building code." I handed him a book of regulations, with a bookmark at the relevant page.

Section 602.10.9 (3) Placement of Siege Weapons. No ballista or catapult shall be placed such that a staircase shall be in its line of fire unless said staircase be (a) directly accessible from outside the fortress as described in § 398.87 or (b) designated as a Likely Invasion Route by the Commander of the Militia as described in § 104.45.

"Also," I said as he stared at the book, "I insist that a sign be placed outside the catapult firing range, warning potential visitors of the danger within."

"Do we even have signs?" he asked. "Even if I agree, the best we can do will probably be to pin a note to the--"

"Finally," I interrupted, because he clearly had nothing important to say, "it is vital that all walls, floors, and furniture be constructed of wood."

"I really don't care what you build it out of--"

"Good, because I do care. Now, if you are done with that," I said, taking back the book of regulations, "I have some furniture to sand. Be sure to tell Sethrist if these terms are agreeable to you. Good day."

I turned and left him to his tinkering.

[powpow]

thoughts of sammy

BLASTED first time in combat and i break my toe, i feel ashamed but luckyly it's only minor considering it could of ended badly, much more badly. although im resting well and being fed great food i feel as though i dont deserve it a, hard worker or valiant warrior whos injured in the field of battle deserves a good rest and fine foods.

there is a weird feeling in this place, some strange and dark aura that pulls at your mind at first i bearly felt it but now as i rest and contemplate i realise how much stronger it feels as some otherworldly force has gained a footfall in this fortress. i must train myself mind, body and soul lest this evil consumes my mind from my own free will. my body must become stronger then the very stone that holds the mountainholmes togather, my mind and soul unbreakable and unbendable to corruption and evil....but how well i achieve this, join the military.... maybe i could do that train my body within the danger room and my mind with grueling sparring and combat experience. but what of my soul?would i lose what is my only way of indentifying with my self? become lazy and over confident in my abilities and my pride being my downfall...imust some how find a balance for all of this. fall too far in my mission to protect myself and the fortress and i might become curropted by the very thing i sought to defeat, too little effot and the time comes i wont be ready.

how would i find a way to train myself? that is the question.
i have to find some one to helpme in my missiion to protect the people and has knowledge of what can best help me ... maybe armok himself if i find a way to communicate with him but  to do that i must know about the spirits and gods and how to communicate with them......hhhhhhhmmmmmm

i do remember posters offering jobs the.. the the priesthood or occultism they're my only ways to try and talk with the great Armok himself and maybe the spirits of great warriors past  hopefully they also are able to  give me the strength to defeat what ever evil there is around here..

(i hope this sounded alright i haven't writen something fictional for a while and even then they were only medicor but hopefully you get the idea of what he needs to do)

[SethCreiyd]

In the wake of the liaison's visit late that fall, Quakemortal became a barony of the Lanterns of Hail.  Now considered a full part of the realm, they would receive greater support from the rest of the nation.  Soon, they'd have many more mouths to feed, when migrants flocked to the prosperity.

Sethrist recommended Kulet for the position, on the grounds that he had saved the fort once with his quick thinking, even saving the Overseer's life on one occasion.  Kulet had never asked for such a position, and while being informed that his duty was largely symbolic, he was moved into a fine new house.  His only condition was that he be allowed to continue mining.

The building of a Trade Depot was commissioned, one built from shaped adamantine blocks, to reflect the sheer immensity of the fortress' wealth.  The bookkeeper Moldath had recently finished a tally of their stockpiles, and it was good news indeed.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

In celebration, Sethrist announced time off for all but vital activities and declared a state holiday, Barony Day, to take place every year on the fifth of Timber.  Though he announced a party, he wasn't around for it, choosing instead sit in his quarters alone, as he lately often would.

Aramco and Kzel started using the metal for their respective industries, but Kzel soon stopped, claiming his work to be unsatisfactory.  Aramco tried to bolster his spirits by pointing out that all of his weapons were +finely-crafted+ at worst, but he insisted on honing his skills on simple iron bolts until he had further developed his skill.

He spent hours of the day in his office, examining and taking notes on some of the chain whips brought to the fortress by invading goblins.  Some were little more than pieces of metal linked together so as to make the weapon flexible, but others had small blades attached to the end.  The weapons were undoubtedly effective, and learning the secret of their design could give their military an extra edge.

Aramco, meanwhile, spent day and night working over her forge.  She reasoned that these dwarves who kept them all alive should get the best protection they could, and adamantine offered the best.

Three weeks after the festivities, a small group goblins were spotted creeping along the western wall by SalmonGod's dog.  They rained their cruelty down on the canine's bones until it stopped moving.  The alarms going out, SalmonGod saw the assault on his pet from the watchtower, and with an enraged yell, he charged down.  "Give me a crossbow!" he bellowed, the veins in his neck popping out with each syllable.
 

As the squad gathered around him, he spotted a green-skinned prowler coming up from behind the furniture stockpile, where another dog lay dead.  Aware it had been spotted, the goblin made a beeline for the inner entrance, and would have been captured by the cage traps Dariush had installed; but the Captain, sensing this wouldn't suffice, took hold of the invader's throat and punched him hard enough to leave a crater where once was a face.  Satisfied, SalmonGod dropped the goblin's corpse to the ground and proceeded to search for a crossbow.

The raiding party beyond the outer wall came around the bend to the entrance, running under a storm of vengeful bolts.  Their leader took a step onto the stone floor tile.  A sound like a catapult firing came through the ground, and a number of spinning blades came out of the floor.  Before the goblin knew what was happening, he had lost all four limbs to the saws before falling forward and being split down the middle.  A similar process unfolded on two of the other raiders, and one who managed to jump past the line of death soon found itself in a tin cage.  Utterly broken, the rest of the intruders retreated.  The goblins would not be seen again that year.

-----

Dariush:

You receive a letter bearing the seal of the Pale Diamond.  It reads:

"Chief Dariush,

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see the words "elf-capturing machine" on these blueprints.  I hope I needn't remind you that we are a barony now and our actions reflect on the entire Lanterns of Hail as a whole.  That said, it's an excellent design and I think it will be add a lot to our security, but we're still working on your blades, your house, and your Smasher 10000, so it will take some time to complete.

Regards, Sethrist"

-----

SalmonGod:

You receive a letter bearing the seal of the Pale Diamond.  It reads:

"I've processed your application, and you appear qualified, but before we can bestow you the title of Dungeon Master, we need to know where and how you want your office.  It must be large enough to house both a Kennel, one metalsmith's forge, and one smelter.  A tower in the courtyard by the pasture might be a good place.  Think on it and get back to me.

Yours truly, Rimtar"

-----

Broccoli:

A recent visitor to the fort, a peddler of antiques, had a most intriguing tome.  It cost you a few dozen finely-crafted mechanisms, but that's a bargain on any day.  The handwriting is of a strange, archaic style, in a very dated dialect, in such faded ink that the whole thing is nearly illegible, however, with time and effort you have begun to extract bits of useful information from it.  You've been keeping notes in a private codex.

"A mixture thereof consisting of seven and one half parts Saltpetre, and of one part Brimstone, and one and one half parts of the Char of wood.  Set these to grind, and admix with gentle ministrations, lest the powder come alight by a stroke of the pestle.  Omit the Brimstone to achieve a lesser forme for playing at tricks of noise and smoke, and stowe away from the woole of the sheep."

(Research Progress:  1/10)

-----

Kzel:

Replicating the necessary components of the chain whip is an easy task, but getting them to stay together is more difficult, and nothing you've made so far moves like the example piece you're studying.  Perhaps learning to use it would offer some insight.

(Research Progress: 1/10)

[Sir Broccoli]

"A sign on the door warning visitors. Okay, I can live with that." I said while walking through the hallways, "I wouldn't know who would want to visit the firing range, but it seems sensible to warn them."
"The entire complex made out of wood blocks. Okay." I said as I turned around the corner, "It's a massive waste of resources but fine, whatever."
"But no catapult facing the stairway!?" I said as I walked into my office, "That's just plain ridiculous! How else am I going to protect my tome!"

"You didn't even HAVE the tome when you made these plans."

"Shut up!"

"What's the point of talking to me if you don't want me to talk back?"

"I'm fine with you talking back, I just don't want you to say stuff that doesn't benefit me somehow.", I grabbed some paper and ink and opened the tome. "The writing's kind of weird, you sure this book is worth it?"

"Oh yeah! I saw a book like this once, belonged to this weird little old man. He was practically deaf and had scorched off his own eyebrows but MAN could he build a weapon! If you want a siege engine capable of destroying the world you gotta read this thing."

As I translated the tome I thought some more about the catapult situation.

"You know, I could bribe the military commander and have him tell the carpenter that the subbasement is a 'Likely Invasion Route as described in § 104.45.'."

"Or you could change the blueprints a bit, make the staircase come out in a corridor and then make the catapult face that corridor. It's fine as long as it's not facing a stairway."

"Clever!"

"Thank you, all demons have a knack for legal loopholes."

"I could also dig a secret room behind my office and hide all of my important stuff in there. I could even use it to hide for invaders."

"Pah! That's what an elf would do!"

"Hmm, that's true."

I continued translating the tome.

"You know," the demonic voice said after a few minutes, "you could also sell your soul. I know a guy who knows a guy who could give you the ability to make people's heads explode just by giving them a mean look. That ought to scare of invaders."

I thought about this. I didn't like the idea of burning in hell for all eternity but the idea of making people's heads explode was an amusing one. I thought back to the stories my mother used to tell me, stories about the mighties dwarves that ever lived. Stories about dwarves that could fire twenty bolts in less than one second. Stories about dwarves who had both of their arms sliced off and could still kill a dragon by tearing their throat out with their teeth. These dwarves were legends, not because of supernatural abilities but because they trained until they were the best of the best.
I made a decision. I got a clean sheet of paper and started writing:

   Dear Sonuvabitch Carpenter,

   I accept.

   Get that stick out of your ass Sincerely,
   Broccoli, Chief of Siege Operations.

   P.S.
   I make devices that can turn people into people-paste, you make chairs. Don't forget that.

I gave the letter to a random dwarf, gave him some coins and said: "Make sure the carpenter gets this." I left before he realized that those coins were worthless in this fort.
A couple of minutes later I stood in Seth's office.

"I want a helmet, a breastplate, a hammer and some time in the Danger room." I said, "Nothin' too fancy, iron or bronze will do."

[kzel]

Kzel's Journal, Entry 14

Metal bolts. Straight, long tubes with a sharp and pointy head to the untrained eye, yet so much more. Perfect balance is required for long range and pinpoint accuracy. Heavy weight needed for good damage. Compactness necessary to hold many in a single quiver. Resilience carefully calculated to prevent breakage on impact. If there was one weapon best suited for training all the aspects of my craft, bolts would be the one.

I have been studying the goblin weaponry as of late, and I found the chain whips they use of particular interest. All my attempts at reproduction have failed, the weapon's secret eludes me. Despite being of inferior construction, it somehow manages to pierce armor with ease, to deliver blows stronger than a mighty warhammer. I have tried to wield the weapon in the danger room, but have had little success. Careful observation should help me pierce part of the mystery, but I'm afraid that won't be enough : the danger room is excellent to teach deflection and protection maneuvers, but doesn't train attack movements much. Some live training will probably be required as well, and I will require a partner. Given the high pain potential of the weapon, maybe the newly appointed dungeon master will be interested...

[SalmonGod]

Rimtar,

I left a note in Sethrist's office before, but I guess he was the wrong person to notify.  Or maybe it got stolen before he could see it.  I wouldn't be surprised, after spending some time in this place.  I've noticed it's plagued with kleptomania. 

Even the animals!  Their behavior is baffling.  I was stalking a pair of buffalo the other day, and witnessed them fighting over a patch of grass!  This patch of grass was the same as any other in the area, but they couldn't seem to help fighting.  They would have torn each other apart over it, if I hadn't stepped in to finish the fight for them.

I've seen the same stuff in my short trips underground among the populace as well.  Dwarves arguing everywhere over the dumbest shit!  Always talking about wanting more while squabbling over or stealing the pettiest things from each other like common kobolds.  I almost caught one thief and turned them in, but then I saw someone carrying something shiny and... nevermind.

Right.  Office.  Tower.  This is what I proposed in my previous letter.  A three story tower built of microcline.  Near the pastures is good.  Related stockpiles and a kennel on the first floor.  I don't know why I'd need a forge and smelter, but put them in a separate room off to the side if you insist.  I don't need fire around spooking the animals when they should be afraid of me.  Second story I want barracks for my squad.  They need targets to train on and a place above-ground for power naps between patrols.  The third story will be my bedroom.  Second and third stories should include hatch covers over the stairs and some fortifications for crossbow fire should enemies ever reach the inner courtyard.

I feel like I should ask for more stuff, but there's this guy nagging me for a show of manliness.  Wants to see if his toys can make me cry like an elven wench!  Ha!  He makes my bolts, so I'll guess I can spare some time for a show.

SalmonGod

[DuckThatQuacks]

Carpenter's Log:

Happliy, our Chief Siege Engineer has come to his senses. His note also reminded me that I make chairs. Yes, Broccoli, I know that I make chairs. I am a carpenter, and as Head of the Carpenters Guild, I am an expert on what it is that carpenters do. Maybe he needs a new chair, but is too proud to ask for one, and this is his way of subtly letting me know. Just in case, I'll make a nice chair for him.

[JacenHanLovesLegos]

I'd like to join as... a farmer/axedwarf!

[SethCreiyd]

It was the beginning of Hematite, and SalmonGod's commissioned tower was under construction.  Soon he would be named the Dungeon Master of the Pale Diamond and receive all the associated privileges, including this pillar of masculinity.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

There was no room on the ground for the barracks, so they had been moved up to the second story, opposite the room where the kennels would be.  Due to a complete lack of microcline on-site, the outer walls were formed of earthenware bricks, with the interior floors constructed of simple siltstone.  Rimtar's apologetic note mentioned she'd be happy to fulfill any other request as compensation.

Olin had been elected Mayor, and so she and Dariush moved into a fine new house in the middle of the Undercity.  She proved an easygoing leader, keeping herself out of the chain of production except to request that no pig tail fiber items were exported from the fort, with the short supply and all.  Still, Dariush insisted on his private office, and so plans were made to start it along with those of all the Chiefs of staff.

Not all the dwarves of Quakemortal were as privileged as the gentry: Though she came from a long and distinctive line of healers, Impersonat's ancestors had never themselves been part of the nobility, and so her birthrights did not include a magnificent office, but the bedroom she owned was quite decent, much nicer than the hovel she slept in a few years ago before coming here, and she saw little need to complain about it.

Fearing her peers would deem her insane, she had made the decision to keep private her visionary experience while inside the adamantine cavern.  The decision was waived for her dog, who always turned her a sympathetic ear to whatever she had to say, even if not having much in the way of advice.  She had yet to decide on a name for him, though he responded to "Dog" well enough.

It was her day for patrol duty, and so she was standing in the southwest watch tower, crossbow resting on the wall.  Quakemortal had word from the caravan that a large group of migrants would be due to arrive any day now.

Surely enough, it was around noon that day when the first of them arrived at the edge of the wood.  Impersonat immediately knew something was wrong, these dwarves weren't trotting towards the fortress with anxious excitement to their new lives, they were running in abject terror for the walls.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The source of their fear shortly revealed itself, when out of the trees charged one group of goblins, the chipmunks scurrying out of the brush as they came.  They were followed by more of their kind, until there were thirty, and the beating of their drums rolled across the forest as they advanced on the fleeing settlers.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

There are almost forty dwarves down there, Impersonat thought.  And they're all going to be slaughtered, unless we save them.

She lost herself to the motion of combat: without her thinking to, she was up against the turrets of the tower, aiming her crossbow.  If she could distract the goblins, the migrants might have a chance.

She took aim and fired.  The bolt arced through the air and landed itself in a bowgoblin's neck.  It shrieked, dropped its bow and fell, the arrows spilling out of the quiver.

More bolts, more screams of rage from the invaders flew out.  They turned from the terrified migrants and raised their bows to the walls of Quakemortal, and opened fire.  The arrows sailed harmlessly over the fortifications, but for one that whizzed through the turret and straight through her hair.  Not even that could sway her concentration, which had locked down on the attackers with such enduring focus that death had desisted as a concern.

The gates were open.  Quakemortal's soldiers sallied forth, storming down on the archers who continued to shoot at the tower.  Eventually realizing they were under attack, the archers turned round and unloaded at the approaching dwarves.  The arrows crashed against their shields, and they charged.

Impersonat fired until her quiver had run dry of bolts; she stepped on to the edge of the tower and prepared to jump down to the walls and enter the fray - balls to the long fall down - when someone snagged hold of her cloak and pulled her back down.  It was SalmonGod.

"Stand down," he said to her with a pressuring tone, looking in her eyes as the arrows whistled by them.  "Fetch some more bolts and come back."  Snapped out of her trance by the Captain's gaze, Impersonat nodded, but before she could comply, a bolt came straight through the turret and grazed past the Captain's side.  He flinched, clutching at the wall for support.

"Captain!" Impersonat yelled, lunging to him.

"You have orders!" SalmonGod yelled at her.  Spinning around, he fired off a bolt that hit the shooting arm of a bowgoblin, whose weapon fell to the ground and broke.  "Don't worry about me, I'm fine!"

Impersonat hesitated, but turned and flew down the stairs to one of the ammo stockpiles.  A broken line of harried and frightened dwarves streamed into the fort away from the bloody combat beyond the wall. 

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

She'd gathered a new stack of bolts when she heard SalmonGod cry out.  The Captain fell backward over the side of the tower and fell to the grass.  A copper bolt stood stuck in the square of his chest.

As Impersonat ran over to him, a call came from the inner courtyard:  "The migrants are all inside!  Activate the traps!"

"It's just a scratch," SalmonGod whispered when she knelt over him.

Impersonat examined the wound.  He could live, if treated soon.  "You're bleeding," she told him.  "We need to get you to Zaroz.  You're gonna be fine."

"I know that, SalmonGod said, rolling his eyes.  Now help me stand up."

"You shouldn't --"

"Don't tell me what I shouldn't do, Soldier!" he said with a grimace.  "Just help me to the Hospital."  He held his hand out expectantly.

With a bit of effort, she helped get him to his feet, one thick, enfeebled arm slung over her shoulder.  The two of them walked toward the entrance of Quakemortal, and she noticed, with a slight bit of horror, and she was covered in SalmonGod's blood, and that she hadn't truly noticed until it had soaked through her mail to her shirt.

The bowgoblins unleashed one more volley at the beleaguered dwarves along the walls, and ran headlong to their doom as the razor-edged disks sprang into death-dealing life from the very floors they trespassed on.

Yet even as these invaders were rent to pieces, still more appeared by the gates as if popping from some burrow hidden there.  The battle raged on as the sun drifted through the sky to scorch at the fighters from new angles.

Sethrist was there at the front of his first real combat, wielding the spear Kzel had given him.  It had served him well in the battleground, allowing him to remove several goblins from their weapons, but there was a hesitation every time he brought himself to make the killing blow, a pity that froze the strike before it could be made.

Now he was surrounded, and Derm and his troops were too far.  Four of the goblins pulled at their chain whips, baring their yellowed teeth.  A macegoblin at the fore licked his lips.  Sethrist spun in circles with the spear held at length, cursing himself for getting into such a position, and thoughts of Crumby cut into his focus.  The goblins raised their weapons and leered, ready to charge.

One of them suddenly grabbed his throat, a bolt sticking out of its neck.  Derm was there, moving nearly as fast as the bolt itself, whirling his axe at anything within reach, which was mostly thin air, the goblins fleeing from his appearance.  The cacophony of battle ended, and the woods fell silent.

The Commander eyed the young Overseer.  "You all right there?" he asked gruffly.

"Right enough," Sethrist said, his legs still feeling somewhat shaky.

"That's nice," Derm said.  "Maybe if you attend one of my training sessions, you'll learn to avoid this happening."

Seth nodded.  "Thanks anyway," he said.

"I don't want thanks," Derm said.  "I want to not have to break from my squad to come looking for your ass when you're about to get yourself killed.  If you want to commit suicide then you might as well give that armor to someone else while you make your heroic charges."

The Commander walked away.  The Overseer stared after him, and spit on the ground already slick with blood.  Crumby's sacrifice was for the lives of innocents, a chosen and willful recklessness, but here Sethrist had found the same situation not by an act of valor, but one of stupid carelessness: by not paying attention.  Not only was the Commander right, but Sethrist now owed him a favor.

*    *    *

With the battle over, daily life receded back to what was considered normal for a subterranean fortress sitting directly over the endless abyss of the underworld.

A great underground village had formed around the first of Quakemortal's dormitories.  Now dubbed the Undercity, it was a place of beauty and comfort through most of the year, as far as frontier outposts went.  Secured by the great walls and valiant soldiers protecting them, the people of Quakemortal felt safe - those who did not know the darkness waiting below them.  The secret, as it was, was still unknown to most, but the more one lived there, the clearer it became that something was wrong.  The dogs barked at empty corners; the cats would flee from unseen pursuers.  Every night, there was always at least one dwarf whose scream would stir the silence of the hour as some terror drove them awake.

One of the migrants, feeling inspired by his ordeals, crafted a magnificent shield out of warthog bone.  It was a plain piece, but unquestionably well-made, and would go in the barracks pending assignment to one of the soldiers.

The carpenters continued churning out blocks from their workstation in the south courtyard.  Duck looked on with pride at his laboring apprentices.  Their dedication had allowed him to work on a variety of chairs for that Broccoli character, consigning his lowlier crafts for public consumption until finishing a truly magnificent piece with all the best frills in all the right places.

Certain that this gift to sitters everywhere would make the siegecrafter less cranky, Duck brought it over to the south end of the Undercity, where Chief Broccoli had established his temporary quarters.  Duck knocked on the door when he arrived with the chair over his back, but there wasn't any answer.  Since he would obviously want this chair and simply wasn't home to receive it, Duck followed the logical course and opened the door to let himself in.

The place was cramped, but well stocked.  The furnishings were stone, of course, like everything else in this place.  Duck looked for a good place to put his chair in the office,  but finding none, took his search into the bedroom.

The room was flanked by two leering gargoyles, their wings outstretched, clawed hands pointing accusatorily at the bed.  What curious statues, Duck thought.  Their eyes seemed to follow him around the room.

Duck quickened his search and was delighted to find a bare section of the floor that practically begged for a chair to be put there.  Feeling accomplished, Duck turned around to leave, but on his way out, he noticed a tall speckled statue standing in the center of the room.  Upon entry, it looked like an ordinary statue of the dwarf, with its back to the bedroom door.  From here, though, near the bed, one could see that its face was morbidly distorted, hollow and skull-shaped and twisted into a terrible, crack-tongued snarl.

Feeling somewhat put off, Duck hurried outside the quarters, which had seemed to grow colder throughout his time inside.  It was beyond Duck why anyone would want such strange and unfriendly things staring at them like that while they slept.  And they weren't even carved of wood.

The Guildmaster re-entered the halls to encounter Chief Broccoli, who was standing before him with a look of incredulousness.  "What were you doing in my house?" Broccoli demanded, arms crossed.

"I was putting a chair in your room.  You needed it too, with those horrible statues you have all throughout."  Duck gave him a strange look.  "You may contact me if you require a fine wooden table, you weirdo."

And with that, Duck left behind a bewildered Broccoli, who, among other things, was wondering, "What the hell is he talking about?  What statues?"

*    *    *

"Remember to change the wrapping three times a day, and keep the site clean.  And try not to get shot again for a few months at least."  Zaroz finished the last wrapping of the cloth and stood up.  "There, good as new."

"Yeah, no kidding," said SalmonGod.  He hopped down from the exam bed and stretched.  "Thanks for the fix-up, Doc."

"Don't mention it," Zaroz said.

"I won't then," SalmonGod grinned.

"No, Zaroz said, "I mean literally, don't mention it.  I'm not supposed to use adamantine to patch you folks back up, you know."

"Why not?" SalmonGod said.  "It works well enough."

Zaroz nodded.  "That's right, it does."    SalmonGod nodded and left the hospital, and Zaroz followed behind, deciding it was due time for a drink.

-----

Spoiler: Jacen (click to show/hide)

You've been a Farmer all your life, and that's been good enough until you moved to Quakemortal.  You figured a starting outpost needed a good farmer to keep the booze flowing, but the great wealth of this place and the resulting trade has made your position less imperative.

You want to feel useful, and so you've decided to sign up with the military.  The only trouble is, Commander Derm's squadron is filled.  Perhaps if you can convince him of your abilities, you'll be allowed to form a special training squad for new recruits.  After all, what kind of fort couldn't use a few more soldiers? Surely you'll devise some way to convince him.

-----

A notice has been placed in the Dining Hall for all to see:

"Due to the increased number of demands as of late, requests for lavish accommodations made after this posting will be fulfilled on a first-come, first-serve basis.  Prior requests will be fulfilled at varying rates of completion.  Thanks for your patience.  -The Mgt."

[JacenHanLovesLegos]

Journal of Jacen

That Dungeon Master got an adamantine kennel! Such a waste. Of course, Sethrist probably has a good enough reason for it. I'm not a metalsmith. From news floating around Impersonat did quite well with the goblin ambushes when the migrants came and is probably the reason Salmon is still alive.

"If he died you may have been able to get in the military."

"Eh, the militarys just a way to get dead quicker than ya outta."

"But you would get fame and fortune!"

"And I would die. Simple as that. Go away."

[SethCreiyd]

The Recruit's Danger Room was completed on the residential level of the Foundry wing, and Kzel was taking full advantage of it.  Every day he grew more comfortable with the movement of the whip, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd mastered it.

(Research Progress: 2/10)

Meanwhile, many stories above, on the surface, the day was neither too humid nor too scorching, a breezy day that held the Musical Swamp in all its glory, and SalmonGod was going to fish.  His Captaining duties prevented him from this favored hobby of his, but his recent injuries allowed him some time off from active duty, and he was spending it as he wished.  His wounds still ached, but they weren't a great bother to him.

Too late, he heard the goblins approach, and before he could turn around to shoot them down, they'd raised their axes and charged forward to ruin his day.  The Captain rolled out of the way just before they closed in, and scrambled to get away.

Finally he reached his feet, and drawing his crossbow, took aim, but heard someone coming behind him.  He chanced a look behind.  There, ten feet away, a line of six bowgoblins stood behind their leader, a large greenskin with a great silver maul draped over his shoulder.  His arm was raised.

"Ngozu," the goblin said with a grin.  He lowered his arm, and the arrows flew out.

The Captain swallowed, turned, and fired his crossbow in the span of a single heartbeat.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

His bolt drove home to the leg of one goblin, but an arrow pierced his lower right side, and he gasped at the sudden pain.  Surrounded, he fought from the ground, fending off the axes and arrows with naught but a steel buckler.  His movements blurred against sight as he struggled to fend off the assault.

He beat back one particularly brutal swing of an axe and rolled back, but slammed into something.  He turned to see the leader of the goblins standing above.  The maul was in mid-swing, and crashed against his leg with a sickening crunch.

Seeing through the stars of pain enshrouding his mind, the Captain managed to stave off the next swing of the hammer with his buckler, but another arrow found an opening in the side of his leg.  Distracted by the strike of a halberd, and the growing pain that continued to daze him, he finally took one more blow to the stomach from that great maul.  He coughed as the pain of his old wounds flared to unimagined extremes, and finally, his body gave in and collapsed.  Uncontested, the spike of the halberd quickly found his brain.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

((OOC:  As you can see, I'm basing the combat text on the game's combat logs.  This will be the standard, even if or when I neglect to post screenshots of said logs.  Also, rest in peace, SalmonGod.))

Leaving the corpse of their victim to the mud, their bloodthirst unquenched, the goblins passed through the woods onto their true target.

Five minutes later, Impersonat, having seen the attack from her post, came sprinting to the side of the pool.  Her dog lapped at SalmonGod's wounds and whined, pacing back and forth.  She checked the Captain's neck for a pulse, and, with tears in her eyes, took his crossbow, and placing it reverently on his chest, folded his lifeless arms across it.

*    *    *

"Goblins!" screamed Ral, a recruit of SalmonGod's squad and a promising officer-in-the-making.  He scrambled for his crossbow, and as he took aim, he felt all the world around slow down.  It was just as Impersonat said.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He fired down a constant stream of bolts, all of which missed by a wide berth, but the volley captured the goblins' attention while the military moved in.

The goblins panicked as the dwarves clad in the strange blue metal approached much faster than any armor so thick should allow, their glimmering weapons cutting through the crude goblinmake armor like a pick through wet clay.  The invaders broke and ran, and the soldiers gave close chase through the woods, trying to put down as many as possible.

Sethrist remained behind, sporting a blossoming black eye.  His unmatched spear had been bloodied well over the day, and yet he couldn't bring himself to deliver a mortal blow to his opponents.  He had, to this point, injured many goblins in battle, even badly so, but had killed none of them.  He had never killed anything bigger than a spider before, much less a feeling, reasoning creature.

But here, moaning on the ground before him, were three goblins.  They bore no threat, wounded beyond recovery at his hand.  In the course of battle, it had meant nothing to him to run them through, but now, in the wake of the flying weapons and spilled blood he felt an enormity behind what he'd done.  As he looked at their wrinkled forms, he knew he should end their suffering, that it would be a mercy.  And yet, even as he considered it, a disconcerting thought occurred in him:  he found the idea appealing.  It would be only just to slay them, prevent them from ever hurting again.

His thoughts fell short, interrupted by yelling from the soldiers to the south.  They were returning victorious, the goblins vanquished and driven off.

They'll come again next year, thought Sethrist, and we'll do the same old dance yet again.  And in one last consideration to his fallen foes, he realized that if these wounded goblins managed to survive, they'd certainly be seen to kill again.

Sethrist approached one of the returning marksdwarves, a young lass who looked about as green as goblin skin, looking less jubilant than uncomfortable.  Much as I probably look, Sethrist thought.  Dazed and confused.  "Soldier, have someone cage these goblins," he said to her.  "I want to find out what they know."

Nodding her head, Impersonat looked down at the bloody mess of crumpled goblins.  If they ever speak again, she thought, her reddened eyes out of focus.

Sethrist regarded her, then turned toward the rest of the soldiers passing by.  "Where is Commander Derm?" he called out.

"He's been injured, sir!" one of Derm's recruits shouted back.  "One of the medics is seeing him!"

"Injured?" Sethrist strode toward the doe-eyed recruit, probably only a few years younger than he was.  "Injured how?  What happened?"

"We were charging the goblins down when we got attacked by some colossal rodents near one of the pools.  One of them went straight for the Commander and got his leg.  We chopped off its head, but the damage was done."

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

"You're kidding me," Sethrist said, hand on his forehead.

"No sir."

"How bad is it?"

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

"Bad," the recruit said.

*     *     *

"How bad is it?" Derm asked the Doctor.  He was in the hospital now, but he didn't remember getting there.

Zaroz sighed.  "Bad.  Like Zuntir, your main motor nerve has been severed.  Unless the gods hand you a miracle, I'm afraid you'll never walk again."

A deep quiet took over the room.  The doctor bowed his head.  "I'm sorry," he said mournfully, "I've cleaned and stitched the wound, but there's nothing more I can do."  Zaroz moved to the end of the room.  "Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked the Commander.  "A book to read, perhaps?"

"Just leave me alone," Derm said.  With a nod, the doctor left through the door and closed it shut behind him.

Don't listen to him, he heard a voice say out of the shadows in the corner, a voice that chilled his bones.

Don't think about it, Derm thought.  It's just a dream brought on by blood loss.  There's no one there.

He doesn't know anything, the voice said.  You can walk again.

Derm risked asking the question: "Who are you?"

"A friend," the voice said.  "I've come to assist you."

"Show yourself," Derm said flatly, more annoyed than afraid.  "If you're real and not the spawn of a maddened mind, show yourself."

The voice seemed to chuckle.  "You don't want that."

"You don't know me," Derm spat.  A chuckle again.  The walls of the hospital started to ooze with a sickly green fluid.  The smell of vomit filled the room.  The ooze began to trickle down the walls until it collapsed into a wanton pile at the backrest of Derm's bed.  He sat up, not wanting the fetid-smelling substance anywhere near him.

The slime pooled around the floor to the foot of the bed, where it slowly piled upon itself and rose into a flowing mound that towered to the ceiling.  As Derm looked on, amazed, the mass contracted, creased, forming limbs and hair and curves until, finally, all that stood in the room was a naked, nubile lass that could have passed for human if not for the horns and wings, and the memory of the horrible stench that remained.

Derm remembered the legends:  A great blob... twisted into humanoid form... beware.... a demon may look like whatever they wish, but you'll always know when you see one...

The demon girl smiled.  "My name is Ethbeshzalìs," she said.  "I come with an offer."  Her green eyes smoldered in Derm's direction.

Derm reached for his axe from the bedside table and held it aloft.  "Come near me and I'll gut you," he growled.

"Gut me?  But my good Dwarf, you cannot even stand!"  She levitated over to him and folded her vast wings beneath her to serve as a seat.  "And all the same, I have no gut to gut!"

"I'll call for help," Derm said, with a glance toward the hospital room's door.  "The barracks are just down the stair."

"I'd be gone when they arrived."

The witch is just out of striking distance, Derm lamented to himself.  But if I throw the axe at just the right angle, then maybe...

"How did you escape the Underworld?" he demanded.  "We keep that gate under guard at all times."

The demon seemed to consider her answer.  "This is just a little piece of me," she said.  "A tendril in your mind, calling out from a great distance.  I am not really here."  She smiled.  "Now I shall ask a question: Do you wish to walk again?"

"What?"  Derm frowned.  "Is that some sort of a joke?"

"Yes, or no?"

"Spare me your drivel!" Derm screamed.  "Spit out the reason you're here, or get out!"

"Very well, I will be quick.  There is a ritual you can learn.  With it you can transfer your soul to a new body.  It will be quick and painless, and you'll find my price reasonable.  You would have a new lease on life!"

As Derm listened, there was a clamor at the door.  Someone was trying to open it, yet it remained stuck in place, held shut by an unseen force.

"Keep your vile magics away from me," Derm whispered.  Yet even as he said the words, the allure of what they rejected tugged at him.  What if he really never could walk again?

"I will, for now," Ethbeshzalìs said with a sneer.  She floated upward, looking down at him, her green eyes flashing in the dark.  "I will return in six months' time.  We will see then, after half a year as a cripple, if you choose to endure the rest of your life as such."  The demon's form rippled and flowed into its earlier vomitous state and disappeared through the ceiling.

The door finally opened.  It was Moldath the mason, evidently on feeding duty, bearing a tray of dried biscuits and water.  "The door was stuck!" he announced helpfully.  "Not one of my works, I tell ya."  Setting the tray down on the bedside table, he looked around.  "Who else is here?" he asked.  "I heard voices."

Unable to do much else, Derm laid back into bed.  His leg throbbed away beneath the sheet.  "I was talking to myself," he said with a sigh.

-----

Spoiler: SalmonGod (click to show/hide)

You have died.  The choice is now yours: Roll a new dwarf?  Implant the soul of SalmonGod in a new body?  Roleplay a ghost?  Whatever you do, I hope you'll continue playing.  You still have first dibs on the Dungeon Master's spot.

((edit: OOC: I'll try to have another update ready by tomorrow evening.  I'm going out of town this Saturday and I won't be able to play, but I should have internet access.))

[JacenHanLovesLegos]

Journal of Jacen

Not one, but two soldiers have either been killed or severely injured! Of course, tis still sad, but I may get a place in the army!

(A letter is given to a peasant to send to Commander Derm)

To Derm, Commander of the Militia

I was wondering if I could create a recruit training squad to help train new recruits while the real soldiers are out fighting.

From Jacen, A farmer