Homeo-apathy
Malachite 267, Mid Summer

The men are anxious. We have a large military, but no one to fight at home. They are too green and ill equipped to march on the enemy. Thus, we sit, and the men turn their energies on each other. The agitation is also spreading to the peasants, who, while still productive to the dwarf, seem to take longer with each project, get done with less. Perhaps they need something to invigorate them, some spectacle.

*

In the mean time, to test the readiness of the Royal Mechanisms, I have released several goats within the lower halls.



The animals could get in the way of the work done there, but they pose no permanent danger to any dwarf or property, and so were ideal for the exercise. The guard performed admirably; once an animal was discovered, they quickly cornered it and cut it down.

*****

Mayor Boing has sensed the unease that charges the air. Unsure of what to do, but sure she must do something, she wrote new laws for the average dwarf to observe. They are largely superfluous.



*****

While on one of my tours of the facilities, RZApublican called for my attention from his sick bed. While he looked perfectly well and thoroughly bandaged, RZA laid beside a shockingly neglected Shorter Than Some. The dwarf’s wounds were festering, his ribs were showing, and he looked at me with shockingly sober eyes. In a matter of days he looked to have aged centuries.

I called for the doctor, and demanded an explanation. The doctor looked at the charts sitting at the foot of the bed, and told me that the bed had already been attended.



In a rage, I ordered my men to remove the bed, hoping the doctor would isolate the patients to their own beds and give Shorter the attention he so desperately needed. And deserved.
Instead, the doctor moved just RZA, and left Shorter on the floor.



It was the last straw for Shorter.



I rushed in to the clinic with my squad when I heard the screams, weapons ready. What I discovered was Shorter flailing on the floor bawling, while the doctor jumped around the slighted dwarf with his finger to his mouth. I ordered the men to put Shorter in a bed immediately, and berated the doctor in front of the disrespected veteran until he was tucked in.

This seemed to comfort Shorter some.



*****

It only made it all the more harder when I received word that Shorter had passed away in his sleep.



A victim not of a goblin blade, but of dwarven medicine. The new hospital will revolutionize society, so that every dwarf can end his life nobly on the battlefield and not in the bed.










Bene Elim wrote :-



I may not be King (or Queen), but I can still walk the Corridors of Power or the 'Hall of Knowledge' as they're calling it. All I need are the right words in the right place...

Scrawled on the side of every alcohol barrel is the following message;

Bene for Baroness!
------Alcohol------
------Magma------
--Elven Genocide--
You know it makes sense.