Slate
6 Slate 263
After some confusion as to the location of the dumping site, the hordes of newcomers got the idea and started hauling boulders to the right place. I was Overseeing the process when the most useless of all of the migrants – Shorter Than Some, “comedian” dropped his hauled rock in complete disregard for his assigned task.
I was preparing a suitable rebuke for what I assumed was some kind of joke, when I noticed that he'd lost his seemingly permanent grin and began mumbling and shouting to himself! He became peculiarly secretive, refusing to explain his sudden change of demeanor to anyone, as he withdrew up to the surface where the workshops are located. Soon he had claimed the crafts workshop, tossing out the accumulated work order chits onto the ground and scattering the neatly-organized hand tools.
The Lore is well known to all. Shorter Than Some has been taken by a Mood. The fortress became quiet and pensive, as we all know the promise – and the danger – of an inspired dwarf.
7 Slate 263
Today Shorter Than Some ventured from the workshop to gather materials. Idle dwarves nodded and exchanged hopeful words at this positive development. He hauled two piles of beak dog bones back to the craftdwarfshop, and then began a mysterious construction! Spontaneous expressions of joy and relief broke out throughout Gemclod... there can be no doubt now that Gemclod will have its first Artifact!
Privately, I am relieved that the “comedian” may be about to make something useful of himself. We have too many (drunk, incompetent) mouths to feed already.
10 Slate 263
A grimeling has been spotted outside the gates.
What rotten timing! Although Slaan is leading Enzer in an armor demonstration just within the drawbridge, I need not risk them. At my order all the doors are locked immediately, and this time there are no littered roach corpses to block one open. Shorter Than Some is undisturbed in his labors.
Soon the grimeling was heard shuffling about the palisade, moaning and burbling unpleasantly.
Suddenly Elswyyr ran up to me and started shouting “He's outside! He's trapped outside!” From his alarm I was alarmed, and was about to order the militia outside to rescue whatever hapless dwarf had been locked out, but then goatface (who interrupted the individual combat drill he had been conducting to peer over the palisade wall) sensibly interjected “Ignore him Leperfish, it's only his cat,” at which comment Elswyyr took insult.
When I looked for myself, it was true. Scampering about in the garbage outside, its paws crusted in old blood, was a mangy cat Elswyyr identified as “Goden Fikodil.”
The Grimeling had not yet spotted the creature, so I judged the risk was tolerable and ordered mercy. I The nearest door was briefly opened, allowing the cat to bolt back inside, suggesting it possesses at least a modicum of good sense.
Elswyyr was grateful. I may come to regret this, though. Cats are notoriously fecund and yet make meager meals.
12 Slate 263
Shorter Than Some Endokabir has completed his Work; it is an artifact beak dog bone buckler! Though sublimely simple and unadorned, its proportions are flawless and it is a wonder to behold. All agree Shorter Than Some shall be immortalized as legendary for bone carving prowess. His work will no doubt inspire many others, and bring renown to Gemclod.
There is one dwarf who I have guessed may not happy. The_White_Crane, high master bone carver, must surely know there is not room in a fortress of Gemclod's size for two bone carvers, however skilled. A look at the garbage pile suggests there are insufficient materials for even one bone carver to labor more than a few weeks. To be supplanted by a “comedian” must gall. She claimed to be content, when I contrived to walk past her and ask how she was doing, saying lightly that one of the seats in the dining hall was quite fine, but I am not sure if I should believe her.
After consulting my journal, I note that she has lesser skills. Perhaps I can find some way for her to make some cheese, or failing that, obtain a pike.
On reflection, arming her might be the worst thing to do.
14 Slate 263
The grimeling wanders the western tracts of swamp beyond the stream. Dwarves observe it from the roof of the “hospital”, where Bad Munki malingers.
Markus approached me with an outrageous plan for fixing the bottomless pillars in the great hall (he had noticed), but I diverted his attention to a task of Architecture; the design of a new mason's workshop located near the base of the stone dump. I explained that it would be for my own use, and he was enthusiastic.
Within an hour, he showed me a design that adhered to the Tradition, making use of the native cinnabar stone, and by the end of the day I had constructed it to satisfaction.
He again broached the subject of the pillars. I had to explain that, when dropped, each mudstone pillar would surely disintegrate from the impact, and Markus was discouraged. He left, speaking to himself unlikely ideas involving chains and pulleys, though we have neither. I am not sure which outcome would be worse: a plan that cannot succeed, or one that can.
15 Slate 263
Slaan, Enzer, and Minty spar in the outdoor barracks, drawing idle onlookers. Their mock combat is ferocious, each dwarf using naked weapons, but contriving to merely tap each other.
The cistern is ready. All that remains is to breech the stream:
But I dare send no miner out while the grimeling haunts the swamp. 38 drinks remain in the stockpile. There is no wood to make barrels to allow brewing. There is plenty of ore, and seams of coal and lignite are available, but without a single bar of charcoal or a single log to make it, we cannot make coke, so we cannot smelt ore to make metal to make metal barrels to brew drinks.
If the grimeling does not leave soon, I will have no choice but to send out the militia.
17 Slate 263
While examining the records, I realized that only CommaToes is authorized to cut trees. K0npeito's prognosis is that CommaToes will not walk again. This situation was true before I became Overseer. The wood shortage is thus explained! I will not trouble my friend Markus with recriminations, though; it would have no useful result.
Of 35 dwarves in Gemclod, only CommaToes and Enzer profess any skill with wood cutting. A new tree slayer must be inducted. The job requires venturing outside the palisade in the sweltering sun and damp for days on end, alone with the dangers of the beakdogs and grimelings.
It required only the pondering of a few moments before I knew who will be the new wood cutter.
I sought out my choice and took him to visit CommaToes. “Here is the former woodcutter” I said to him. “He will show you how to hold the axe. You will use your considerable skill to Appraise the trees and judge which are of value, and then fell them.”
To his credit Mr. Vile remained calm and of good cheer, despite the miasma surrounding CommaToes' sickbed, and despite the disturbing way he grinned at his new charge.
I enjoyed the encounter but I will not send Mr. Vile to his death. The grimeling must be slain first.
18 Slate 263
I could wait no longer. I assembled both squads in the barracks; goatface, Apocadall, Atomikus, Minty, Enzer, and Slaan.
Slaan wore a combination of leather boots, bone leggings and gauntlets, and copper cap, covered with a silk coat. Minty wore leather shoes and armor, with bone helm, greaves, and gauntlets. Enzer was resplendent in bone gauntlets and greaves with copper cap, mail shirt, over which she wore a big tail fiber coat and cap. She held a palm shield and her copper battle axe.
Atomikus equipped rat leather cap, cave fish leather gloves, cloth shoes over silk socks, and – her only body armor – leather leggings. Yet she held her iron mace menacingly enough. Apocadall wore leather trousers under a silk dress(!) with silk socks and leather shoes; his fiber cap and coat loose over bone leggings and leather armor. In his grimeling-bone gauntlets he gripped an iron spear. And goatface wore elk bird leather trousers and blind cave bear leather dress under a silk coat, with silk socks, leather shoes, fiber gloves, thick drunian-leather armor and well-crafted beak dog leather leggings. His iron short sword flashed in the hot sun.
They were a strange but menacing sight. I unlocked the front doors and sent them out to slay the grunion or die trying. None quavered. They make me proud.
20 Slate 263
The six militia tracked the grimeling.
Its wanderings were random and it had left tracks everywhere, but today they spied the thing near the stream, north of the fortress, and as it moved towards them the dwarves spread out and closed from two sides in a pinscer maneuver, Enzer to the left, Slaan to the right, and Minty down the middle. The three newer recruits wisely held back as the reserve squad.
In the fortress we heard their battle-cries, and I ran for a place on the roof over Pozzo's “jail,” as other idle dwarves (and work shirkers) swarmed the high places to view the fight. I have pieced together the details of the battle from the after-report, confirmed by what I could see myself from my good vantage.
Enzer was first to make contact, the grimeling lunging for her and missing. She replied with her axe to its leg, opening it. The grimeling lunged, its arm missing her head, and then collided with her, knocking her over:
And as Slaan reached the melee, it struck hard, its blow glancing off Enzer's shield! Slaan bashed the grimeling from behind, his well-crafted iron war hammer impacting wetly with its head, hard enough to cause some injury despite the creature's unnatural resilience.
The grimeling again slammed its cabbage fist down at Enzer, twice, each blow parried expertly, and Slaan again brought his war hammer swinging, this time into the grimeling's left leg. Faltering, the grimeling's next attack missed Enzer altogether as she rolled and leapt to her feet; Slaan found an opening and with a strong upswing broke its left hand (if the tangled root-like things it possesses can be so named).
Entirely off balance now, the swamp creature again missed Enzer widely, giving her enough opening to dodge away while Slaan pounded it twice in the left leg and lower body. Minty diverted around the melee, unwilling to interrupt Slaan while he had the positional advantage, for the grimeling was clearly fixated on Enzer to the neglect of all other threats. It followed her, inviting her next attack, a wide arc of the copper axe tearing at its right arm, and then after dodging its counterattack, bringing the weapon across its right leg twice in rapid succession.
As Slaan circled again, Minty finally saw an opening and dodged in, his iron axe swiftly hacking at the grimeling's upper body. Enzer dodged away, allowing herself a bare second or two to catch her breath, as Slaan laid in again, the brute paying him no heed at all as he bashed it in the leg while Minty sliced its left arm.
The three continued to harry the grimeling. Enzer baited it, slashing once, and then dodged away as Minty and Slaan punished the thing for ignoring them. The grimeling charged Enzer, again shoving her to the ground, and this time the heavy impact against a rock briefly stunned her; all of us watching gasped, not knowing if she had been slain! After receiving another crushing hammer shot to the lower body from Slaan, the grimeling finally redirected its attention to Minty, who easily dodged its sudden swing. Minty responded, but (for the first time) the grimeling likewise dodged, perhaps some part of its primitive mind recognizing that simply taking every blow he delivered with that cruel axe would be suicidal.
At that point goatface, fearing Enzer might have taken some injury, rushed to join the fight. As Enzer recovered her senses (to my great relief), Minty delivered a crippling chop to the grimeling's left leg, crushing bone. The creature, now staggering, nonetheless dodged away from his next attack, jumping past Enzer as she clambered to her feet, and then feebly missing her with two reaching swipes of its vegetable claws.
Whereupon goatface, indefatigable, lunged forward and with a single stroke of his short sword, chopped the grimeling in half.
A cheer erupted from the fortress, and the doors were swung wide, the swamp once more (relatively) safe. Relieved, I descended the stair, seeing Mr. Vile rushing out just after Perfect Potato, and I watched as Shorter Than Some shimmied down the palm tree between the butcher's and mechanic's workshops, whooping and laughing.
The tree. Inside the palisade, between the two workshops.
Where it could have been cut at any time, without danger to the dwarf that cut it; and then burnt for charcoal, allowing the making of coke from bituminous coal, with which the metal ore might be smelted, to make barrels to use for brewing to make drinks.
I idled against the trunk of the palm, awaiting the return of the militia, as the sounds of industry returned to the fortress all around, and was rueful.
25 Slate 263
The stream was breached without incident.
Likewise, logs began to flow into the fortress, and I ordered charcoal be made. We will build beds, too, but charcoal first. Sleeping on the ground is hard but smelting without fuel is harder.
After closing the lower floodgate, I ordered the upper floodgate opened. Within moments, we could hear the rushing sound as water filled the tunnel, gushing down into the cistern.
The stonework held, with no leaks, even when the rushing sounds ceased, indicating the entire tunnel and cistern were now fully pressurized. Success!
Now, the cistern full, it was time for Phase II of the plan; water filled the tunnel, and it would have to be drained off before it would be safe to sink a well down to the cistern.
The excess I will put to good use.
dreamy wrote :-
Word has reached the Mountainhome, that some dwarves have settled in a swamp (of all things!), then spent a year digging a hole down in it while they live up in the mud. Now they've tied two beak dog bones together to make a crude buckler and call it a legendary artifact! The boys and I had a good laugh.
I made a little doodle to remember this.
YeOldeButchere wrote :-
Journal of Yeol Deabo Tcher, Armorer
Seems like I was wrong in my last entry, diary. They do have a forge, and it's above ground. I don't see how this could be a bad idea at all! Sure, there's rain and all sorts of bad weather interfering with my work. Sure, it's ridiculously inefficient compared to a magma forge and eats up our wood supplies. Sure, it puts the fortress' most valuable dwarf potentially in harm's way. But if you forget about those details, it's a great idea!
Kudust Axematched, who thought this one up? The overseers here seem pretty fond of "tradition" and all that stuff, but then why is my forge not on the lowest level of the fortress, where there's magma, as per tradition? Bunch of self-interested hypocrites, all of them.
It's not like my skills aren't needed either, they are. I've seen the fortress guard or militia or whatever they call themselves in combat. It took all of them to kill a grimeling. That's like 5 or 7 dwarves with swords and axes and warhammers. Not that the warhammers are any good against those things, but that sure as hell didn't stop them!
Maybe I should make my armor defective on purpose. We might lose a competent dwarf from time to time, but the useless ones would die far more quickly. Then again there's the risk of them ending up like the festering immortal lump next to the entrance, and one is bad enough.
Mr. Vile wrote :-
From the journal of "Mr. Vile" Organboots, Adequate Appraiser.
I don't think the overseer here respects my skills. He mocked my appraisal abilities and told me to haul garbage. Pah! Clearly, they need a better dwarf to appraise the immigrants to the fortress. I complained to the overseer that garbage hauling was not fit for one of my talents, but he just handed me an axe instead and told me to appraise the trees I cut down out in this stinking swamp. I said I could tell him right away that the rotting treehusks here are worthless but he just told me to seek instruction from the rotting dwarfhusk by the gate. The stench of him made my beard curl, but it at least prepared me for the stink outside in the swamp.
There is one tree, however, that I have not appraised as worthless. It grows inside the fortress walls and annoys the overseer with its deviation from the plans. That alone makes it a priceless treasure too valuable to be cut down.
The_White_Crane wrote :-
This is a journal entry. It is written in beak-dog-blood ink, on molerat-skin parchement.
The writing is jagged, and menaces with spikes of capitals. All craftsdwarfship is of the most mediocre quality.
Journal of The_White_Crane Ducimimush, High Master Bone Carver:
By Oraclesong's eyes, this will not do! First, they send me to this Backwater (hah, literally) little Hole - then, I am immediately Supplanted by this Jumped-Up Dabbler of a so-called 'comedian'! I! I who learned the fine art of bone-carving from Master Calavera, the finest flute-artisan the mountainhomes have ever seen!
But that whelp shall Rue the day he crossed me... Bone-carving is not my only Talent... I am a more than adequate Judge Of Intent... I shall find a position in the Fortress Guard, rise up the ranks, and use my Talents to find him Guilty of as many crimes as I can contrive. Then, with him languishing in the oubliettes beneath the swamp, I can take back my rightful place as the Greatest Bone Carver in Gemclod!
AHahaHAHAhah, AHAhahaHA!!!!!