Guildmaster's Log, 1st Granite, in the year of our lord 464.
Spring has come at last to Spearfalls.
I can't count the ways in which this last year and a half have worn on me. I've not practiced my craft since I set foot in this place; I've been so caught up in the day-to-day management of things that I've hardly had time to breathe, let alone make friends. Our numbers have swollen to 91 now, according to the latest census, but I barely know any of them.
Still, perhaps that's easier. It's due in no small part to my under-the-table management of the place that we have so many--but she who shoulders the pride must shoulder the blame, as well. If I'd kept a closer eye on things, listened a little more, double- and triple-checked for danger as I should have... well, suffice to say that it's my fault we have so
few.In truth, I don't really want to speak about what's happened since my last entry, but I suppose it's my job. Somebody has to speak for the history of this place, and I know it better than anyone. Even if I'd rather not.
Shortly after my last entry, Nil Idoslan was possessed, and demanded the construction of a clothier's workshop. I suppose Othello wanted to have one last word with us before he passed beyond the veil.
I understand that Kubuk was a distant relationship of Othello's, and that the satyrs and strawberries were some sort of personal metaphor. I confess I still don't understand the latter, and likely never will--but Quillfin, on the other hand, is less of a mystery. Etur and I didn't really know what to make of her statue being included at first; she didn't even
know Othello. We thought that there might have been some unrequited affection, until one of the other miners overheard us talking and told us that Othello had been the one to mine out the boulder it had been carved from. Then it all fell into place. I suppose he felt some sense of pride at having been involved in the creation of the statue, which has in a way become a symbol of Spearfalls' ascent from the darkness.
It's a cold comfort, considering his death was still entirely my fault--but it's a comfort nonetheless, knowing that he goes to meet Moldath with pride. He did his lineage honor, and will be sorely missed.
But I'm sorry to say that his was not the last death to occur on my watch. There has been one other since then, and it was equally as preventable. Zon, our furnace operator, was taken by a mood back in Timber, and claimed one of the bone-carving workshops--and, I must confess, my pride was such that I quite forgot about him. Such things had become commonplace by then, and I didn't feel the need to micromanage--I was much more concerned with digging ever deeper into the caverns. I had hopes of finding... in truth, I don't know what. But whatever lies in the depths, it's not worth losing lives over, and that's precisely what happened. Zon was sitting in his workshop screaming for bones for nearly two months while I was overseeing the plunge into the depths, and nobody heeded him. Least of all me.
By the time the miners told me they had struck some mysterious red stone and could dig no deeper, Zon had given in to rage and insanity. We'd have even more full coffins by now, but thankfully Aban had taken it onto himself to hold a deathwatch in my absence; he struck Zon down before he could hurt anyone else. He didn't ask for any thanks, and I didn't ask for any forgiveness. I think we both knew that we didn't deserve either.
Aban... I think I understand that man a little better now. He's a member of Inod's militia--
our militia, I have to keep reminding myself--and if you'd have asked me a year ago what I thought of him, I'd have told you that I didn't trust him. In fact, I'm pretty sure I said as much in my last entry. But now... I just don't know anymore.
I suppose I should note that, prior to the incident with Zon, Aban proved himself in another way. The passageway into the caverns had become infested with Troglodytes, and I'd ordered the military down to clean them out. No sooner was our perimeter abandoned, however, then somebody rushed down to let me know that they'd spotted a few goblins out front. Once again, my pride took hold; I turned to Aban and told him "You're the mayor;
you go deal with it."
And so he did. After I'd finished overseeing the systematic slaughter of the troglodytes who were impeding my mining operation, the militia and I returned to the surface--to find Aban standing in a blood-soaked field, nearly a dozen dead goblins at his feet, and not a scratch on him. There were a few of the raiders still remaining, and the rest of the military mopped them up as quickly as you'd expect--but I'll never forget the sight of Aban, knee-deep in corpses, dripping blood.
He never said a word. When the last goblin was dead, ten of them by his hands alone, he never said a word. Not to me, not to anyone. He just went back to the barracks that I'd put him in, that dirt-floored hovel far away from the warmth of Spearfalls, and started training again.
I've backed off of the squad since then. I still haven't found enough dwarves to split them up, and truth be told, I don't know if I'd want to now. Aban wouldn't grumble about it; none of them would. And push come to shove, any one of them is as good as an army, so it wouldn't weaken us to do so. But in truth, they're so far beyond my ken that I just want to leave well enough alone.
The latter, I should note, has been amply supported by two more campaigns of theirs. Not long after the goblin raid, a couple more troglodytes were caught in the traps I'd had set up down in the caverns--and when somebody went down to retrieve them, they were met with the sight of a monstrous beast, the likes of which I've never heard of. According to the description I received, it was four-legged, made entirely of glittering gems, and belching noxious gas. According to the dwarf who'd described the event to me, the creature had muscled past him and into the main stairwell as soon as he'd opened the door to the cages; it was as if it had been
waiting. Luckily, he wasn't harmed, and the military made short work of it before it made its way into the fortress proper, but I understand that some of them inhaled the creature's vapors. Time will tell what effect that will have.
And finally, not one month ago, a Cyclops made is way to our gates. Once more, the militia triumphed, but the fact that we're attracting such attention in the first place worries me. What's going to happen when something worse arrives? We've been lucky so far, but if half the militia dies thanks to that Armok-damned beast from the caverns we could be wiped out in an instant.
And finally, there were the food shortages over Autumn. I nearly strangled the dwarf who'd told me that we'd run out of food. How does that even happen? We have six farm plots growing every underground crop we possibly can, and fisherdwarves fishing around the clock. But apparently these idiots need to be told that, yes, it's okay to actually
prepare and
cook the fish instead of letting it freeze or rot in barrels out on the pier. We dealt with it, but for a moment--just for a moment--I wanted to let them all starve, just to end this bloody nightmare.
I just... I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I thought this place would be better with me at the helm, but I'm not cut out for this. All the death, the blood, the greed and turmoil--it's not what I signed up for. Two years ago, I was making cheese in the mountain homes, happy as you please, and now I'm staring at a graveyard full of people that I put there. And what was it all for? What the
hell was it all for?
I don't know. And to tell you the truth, I just don't care anymore. I can't afford to, not if I'm going to keep whatever scraps of sanity I have left. I have no official position to retire, but as of today I'm leaving the running of this place in the hands of the Nobles, or whoever else wants to step into my shoes.
Spring has come at last to Spearfalls. And not a second too soon.
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And that's the gist of it, folks; nothing major accomplished, I suppose, but the fortress is stable, happy and pretty much self-sustaining. Things that I meant to do but never got around to include planting some surface crops--we have the seeds for it, but not the real estate--and getting some other industries going, mainly Potash-making and Cheese-making. Mostly, I just didn't want to screw around with lye, since for me that's historically ended with useless buckets full of lye and water that nobody will touch. I'm also not super-fond of the layout of the fort, in some ways, but when you're dealing with an aquifer I guess there's only so much that you can do.
As you may have gathered, I've tunneled down pretty close to the bottom of the map. I think the lowest staircase is five or six levels from the bottom and sitting on semi-molten rock. Still haven't found magma or adamantine, although judging by the warm walls the former is close by. Also, somehow managed to bypass the entire third cavern layer.
Hmm... I think that's most of the stuff worth noting. It's been fun, guys! Not too bad for my first swing at a succession fort. I don't think I ever want to play with such an invincible military right off the bat, though. I mean, really, one wrestler took out two goblin ambush squads, and the fights with the forgotten beast and the cyclops were total yawn-fests. It's just not !!FUN!!, as they say around these parts.
Anyway,
here's the save. Good luck and have fun, Dalex!
Author
Topic: Spearfalls: A Tale Of Two Maps(Succession) (Read 8759 times)