CHRONICLES OF GEMCLOD
Mid-Summer 262: Unwelcome Guests
“Somebody's coming!” cried Leperfish.
It was mid summer. We climbed at the roof of the bedhouse/hospital/my office and saw them from a distance. There was five of them, dressed in dirty rags and looking wild. The day was scorching and they barely managed to wade forward through the marsh. They stumbled frequently and from time to time, one of them fell headfirst into the mud.
When they came closer we saw how horrible they looked. They were covered in dirt, their hair was unkept and clodded, and they looked like they hadn't eaten in a month.
As they came even nearer, we realised they were dwarves! We rushed to open the gate and let them inside the stockade.
The first of the group was cheerful woman. Even the stench of the swamp couldn't conceal how she reeked of alcohol, and she was outrageously drunk even by dwarven standards. She barely walked an only the support of two of her companions saved her from drowning in a puddle.
“Mm... ppp.... zzzz,” she mumbled, looking somewhere far behind my left ear.
“This is Pozzo, our leader,” interpreted one of the supports.
I was amazed by this incredible embodiment of dwarfiness. “Welcome in Gemclod, Pozzo and the others. What can we do for you?”
“Wwwutrrr... yuu... duuunnn... hrrr?!”
“What are you doing here?” explained the interpreter.
“What do you mean what are we doing here? We live here!”
“You can't live here! This is greenskin territory,” said Pozzo (via an interpreter).
What followed was several hours of slow, painful interrogation of Pozzo, who couldn't pronounce a syllable, and her four followers who, in turn, seemed to be unable to comprehend even the simplest question. In the end, however, we managed to establish that we were not where we thought we were. In other words, we had founded Gemclod in a small valley between two goblin fortresses.
“How could that happen, Markus?” asked Leperfish. “I thought you consulted a map!”
“I did! It's just... I think... I must have got confused by all those chests, checkerboards and teddybears.”
And so it came to pass that we established Gemclod not in a perfect haven of safety, but just in front of the greenskins' door. But it was too late to change minds. The Entrance was already finished and just as we spoke, the Great Hall was being excavated. “Besides,” said Vox Nihili, “I'm sure goblins don't go to swamps anyway.”
Pozzo and her companions were fellow dwarves of the Famous Palisade, presently on run from the greenskins. It was almost impossible to get any more details, but I believe they said something about an ambush, an imprisonment, a chewing of bonds, things like that.
There was nowhere for them to go. We lost contact with all members of the Famous Palisade several months ago and, for all we knew, we might be the last dwarves in this corner of the world. We allowed them to stay.
State of the Fortress
Population: thirteen (incl. one Infected)
(Bags are men, amulets women.)
“So you say you have a baby with you?” I asked when I finished updating the books.
“'sright,” said Willie. “But 'tis an orphan. Ain't nobody's of us!”
“Yes, thank you. But...”
“'Got no ma or pa!”
“Yes, thanks. But...”
“It just came along!”
“Yes, brilliant. But where is it?”
“What'cha mean?”
“There's only the five of you here. No baby. Where is it?”
“Uh...”
The beak dogs were still outside!
When CommaToes heard about the baby, he stormed out of the gate, not even stopping to get his axe. Only thanks to this alertness was he able to get the baby before the beak dogs snuffed it out, and brought it back to the fortress.
For the first time in months, we saw a truly happy smile on his gangrene-covered face.
“It's a girl!” he said.
Several days later I approached the travelers to ask about what help they could be to Gemclod. Angry Ed actually asked me for job by himself, and I assigned him to be a cook (since we have no need of second smith when there's Vox Nihili around), but the other four just spent their days idling.
“So what do you guys do for living?” I asked as they were hanging around by the back gate.
“What do you mean?” asked Pozzo, surprisingly sober.
“What's your occupation?”
“Doesn't ring a bell.”
“Your job? Your trade? Your craft?”
“Sorry chief, no idea what you're talking about.”
No matter how hard I tried, they seemed unable to comprehend the idea of work. They talked about war, hunt, thievery and drinking, but once I asked if they could do something, they switched to blank expressions. I tried persuasion, I tried respectful asking, it didn't help. In the end I gave up.
“Never mind, you may stay nonetheless. Just promise me there won't be any trouble.”
“Sure thing, chief,” said Pozzo “I swear that as long as I am here, there will be peace and order!”
Screaming Idiot wrote :-
CommaToes is a true hero. And yes, I know he's starting to wear clothes, but the image of a pustulent, fat, nearly-naked dwarf being the greatest hero of Gemclod is to good to pass up.
Pozzo wrote :-
Boing posted:
Ahahah I'm a hunting peasant, what the hell
Gonna whip those beak dogs up some 
The way I imagine it really is that our little group of migrants is actually an incredibly inept band of thieves and thugs led by a totally incoherent drunk. I just imagine Markus's questioning of our band going something like:
And what is your profession?
I'm a, ahem, I'm a peasant. I'm totally not any sort of a criminal.
and whats with the knife?
I'm a...er..hunting...um...peasant?
I see. And wha-
Me too! I mean, wait, I mean I'm a war peasant.
Right...and what about you?
Who me? I'm a thief.
In fact I am half keen to write up a journal to that effect opening "Christ what a hangover. Woke up in a swamp with somebody elses baby and a sack full of somebody elses gems. Again. Fuck."
Pozzo wrote :-
So yeah I didn't actually intend/expect to be writing a journal but my dwarfs arrival at the head of what seems to be a group of inept bandits was too hilarious an opportunity to miss. Consider it a prelude to my overseering turn, if my dwarf and her liver make it that long.
Journal of Pozzo Bustpulleys
? of ...Slate, maybe? Spring, 262
Deg al-fucking-mighty what a hangover. Woke up this morning in the middle of a swamp. A baby crying, of all the things in the goddamn world, woke me up. What the hell was a fucking baby doing in the swamp?! What the hell am I doing in a swamp? Where is this goddamn swamp, anyway?
There were 4 muddy skinny weirdos looking at me expectantly when I woke up. 4 of them, sat in a row, just watching. Creepy as hell. Baby just lying in the mud.
Last place I can remember being was the tavern at Anvilcloud. That goddamn tavern, I should have known better. Last time I got this drunk I wound up overseeing a fort for a year. That was a fucking hangover.
Anyway, seem to remember some shady little asshole buying me drinks and asking me to...what? He asked me to do...something? I can’t remember a damn thing. But that was in autumn. And the leaves around me right now are not orange. And Anvilcloud is on a glacier. But right now I’m in a hot, muggy, sweaty, bastard of a swamp. Anvilcloud isn't known for its heat. Or its swamps. Goddamn, I am fucking lost. I should lay off the whiskey. It’s ale only for me from here on out.
Soooo, looks like I missed winter again.
God those weirdos are still looking at me. I should probably say something. They're very patient, I haven't said anything since I screamed when I woke up. Should probably ask if they know where we are. Wonder if anybody has any liquor?
~~~
So...yeah. Spoke with my “crew”.
Apparently I agreed to lead a group of thugs to raid the Jewel vaults at Crestedstorms for some stupid fucking reason. I have got to stop doing this. Fuck. I need to remember to keep notes or something.
Nobody knows where the baby came from, they’re saying I took out a sack of gems to a tavern after we raided the vaults and came back running being chased by the town guard and the baby was in the gem sack. Shit shit shit. I think I might have been gambling again...and won a baby. Fuck.
(How does that work anyway? "I'll see your 13 sapphires, and raise you THIS ORPHANED CHILD!" then probably "MUWUHAHAHAHAHA")
So we obviously got away from the guard but these idiots apparently let me lead them out into this swamp when we got out from Crestedstorms and we’ve been wandering around in here for a week. I asked them how it is I’ve managed to stay drunk up until now – apparently there’s a dog and a cat running around somewhere in this swamp that they think I rigged up to carry barrels full of sewer brew on their backs.
So the thieves and bandits are waiting for me to lead them out of the swamp apparently. I got no idea where I am so I’m just going to walk north or something. Should get somewhere eventually.
This baby crying is getting old real fucking fast.
Wheres that goddamn puppy, I need a drink.