Kenbo the armorer likes adamantine and nuthatch demons for their rhythmic undulations. He doesn't handle stress well, and does not feel effective in life.
Sarus is a musically-inclined, forgotten beast-killing macedwarf who lost the fat in his right upper leg. He likes toy boats and granite, and does not mind working outdoors, at least for a time.
* * *
Mayor Derm Halltouches sat at his desk pouring over the latest reports from the Underworld when a knock sounded at the door to the office. A voice carried through the other side. "Creiyd Praisedcudgel reporting for duty, sir."
Derm called to enter, and the dwarf strode inside, looked around the room, and dropped a stack of stamped papers on the Mayor's desk. "I'm the assistant you requested last year."
"Wonderful! Have a seat." Derm pointed at an uncomfortable-looking alunite throne sitting in front of the table. "I imagine you're weary, it's a long way from the Mountainhomes."
"It was nice to travel, honestly. I hadn't seen much of the surface before this trip. The woods are spectacular."
"Just wait until Autumn. The trees'll take on such splendor it'll almost make you forget what's waiting beneath us." The Mayor gestured toward a stack of barrels lined up against the wall. "Wine?"
"Certainly." Creiyd nodded in appreciation, took the offered goblet and sipped nervously. "I came with several peasants who hope to achieve a greater life than they had in the Capital."
"Excellent," Derm said, chortling. "We could use some more soldiers."
"Well, the first is a novice brewer," Creiyd said. "He came to Deathgate to perfect his-"
"He's a soldier," Derm said. "Along with anyone not a master in their craft. Do you know how many demons there are, kid?" The Mayor pointed at a chart splayed across his desk. "According to this, if we drafted fifteen dwarves to service every half-second, we might match their number in about twelve thousand years. And one demon can take down about ten dwarves of ordinary skill. We're so badly outmatched here I suspect only providence persists in preserving us. We're just lucky they can't walk through the walls or I'd be mandating a mass suicide to keep us all from dying far more horribly."
"I see," Creiyd said.
"Tell them to report to Blead, and tell him to get the newbies fitted, when you see him," said the Mayor, as he leaned back in his seat. "You'll find him, just listen for the cries of whomever he's beating. Apparently the prison isn't big enough to house all the malcontents."
Creiyd examined his empty goblet. "I thought it was the Mayor's job to talk down the disgruntled workers?"
"I don't have time for that kind of nonsense, kid. We're the last line of defense for a world that won't know what hit it when these things get loose. I've enough to worry about without these hooligans getting in the way, especially when Blead is so good at caving in someone's chest."
"I see. So, what exactly do you require?"
Derm frowned as he rubbed his beard. "Deathgate's in a right state," he told his aide. "Our halls are filled with the blood and bodies of various creatures. There are still a few corpses caught beyond the gates of Hell, and we haven't enough coffins to bury the ones we've actually recovered. We've got Doctors that won't heal people, soldiers that can't kill things, and haulers that would starve to death in fear of a crippled deer that couldn't possibly reach them, let alone hurt them. It's a good thing our predecessors set so many traps outside or the goblins would have had their way with this place long ago."
"Sounds like you've got your hands full," said Creiyd, setting the goblet down.
"That's why I sent for you, kid. There are nearly two hundred dwarves here and it's my job to meet the needs and demands of each and every one. It's your job to make them all think I'm doing that."
Creiyd raised an eyebrow. "So what
will you be doing?"
"Research, my boy, there's much to be done. These demons defy every law of physics we've got, and if we can figure out what makes them tick and we just might live long enough to tell someone about it." Derm pointed at a plate of putrid gray ooze quivering on the corner of the table. "We just found out that they're edible. Care for some boiled brute brain?"
"No thanks," Creiyd blanched, shaking his head and raising a hand in disgusted rejection. "I was wondering what that smell was."
"Yeah, it's a bit heavy on the sulfurous side."
Creiyd was eager to change the subject and steer his thoughts away from the unidentified meat in the stew he had for lunch, but whatever he was about to say was cut short by the office door swinging open. A flustered dwarf with dark rings around her eyes hustled inside, shoved an engraved slab upon the desk, and hurried back outside without a word. "What was that all about?" he asked the Mayor, who was reading the slab with a wrinkled brow.
"Nothing really," said the Mayor, waving his hand. "Where were we?"
"Um... eating demons."
"Right. At any rate, most of the guards are down at the entrance to Hell, but it's taking Tundra a while to get around since the demons left him crawling around on all fours. Luckily, all's been quiet on the deepest front, before today, at least. The masons are putting up a new gate to replace the one that got destroyed, with some splendid new mechanisms.
"I saw them, very nice craftsdwarfship. But what's stopping the demons from breaking down the new gate just like the old?"
"I dunno. The gate itself is also adamantine," Derm shrugged. "And it doesn't help if it isn't closed, I can tell you that. I'm not taking any chances here, and if that don't work, nothing will. Besides, the architecture's just great. We need people, and people like to go where there's nice architecture."
"I see," said Creiyd.
"You keep saying that," Derm said, squinting at his aide. "That a tic or something?"
"It's all I can think to say, sir. I've never worked at a fortress with demons before."
"It's about as pleasant as you'd imagine," said Derm. "Prepare for sleepless nights and sudden cessation of life. I don't suppose you want to hear how dramatically your chances of burning to death have risen since your arrival?"
"Not exactly, no."
"Anyway," said Derm, gathering the forms on his desk into one great pile, "I've got some paperwork to fill out. Have Medtob or someone else with any talent start engraving memorial slabs. I want all the dead accounted for by the time the liason gets here. Also, stop by the hospital and take note of all the symptoms in the folks who just got poisoned."
"What?"
"You'll see."
"Okay then." Creiyd rose from the desk, turning to leave.
"One more thing. In order to rig up a demon trapping device we're going to need a Giant Cave Spider or six. Try and get the trappers to get some." The Mayor stood as his aide departed. "And if you see The Mad Fool, send him up here, will you? I want to know how the prosthetic eyeballs are coming!"
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Topic: Deathgate - And We Must Scream (Finished Succession Game) (Read 866454 times)