1st Granite, 265

Gemclod suffers. Our stockpiles scrape the cave ceilings and the bloodless flesh-sacks of much elf lie rotting at our step, but it suffers still. The loss of dearest Pozzo (may she always be remembered) has birthed suffering in all of us. All, at least, except festering CommaToes and the first Overseer, who both taint the place with their pestilent melancholy. That is not dwarven. When I arrived, I had no hope, for I thought the hearth of our people extinguished. It is not so. Somehow, through some chance quirk of the earth below, many have come here to Gemclod, all to one place, to make it a home. I shall not allow it despoiled. Our one opportunity to thrive cannot be thrown away with the elf bones.

This is no suitable place in which to raise daughters. Gemclod shall be made fitting a Home for the last remaining bastion of dwarfkin. No longer shall we depend on the unscrupulous trade caravans for our living. No longer shall we submit ourselves to the mercy of the Mountainhomes, who by now are so pathetic as not to warrant the name. My predecessor, Vox Nihili, is no longer fit to lead us into a new year, and I speak not of his injuries. Perhaps his wisest decree has been to pass along the responsibility to me.

I begin my initial inspection of our home. It has been difficult to pay attention to the happenings around the settlement walls for the past years. Willie has taken up much of my time. He will do so no longer, for I have responsibility. It is time to see for myself what my predecessors have built on the surface above.



I notice immediately the insufficiency of our gatehouse. A single bridge of wrought iron, shallow banks of fetid swampwater at each side. An elf could climb out of this. The bridge must be reworked. The moat, covered over and re-dug. The gore-spattered remains and equipment of our previous invaders blocks any construction that might be undertaken, henceforth I order it dumped in the river. It shall run with the blood and filth of those who have contrived to move us from this place.



The hellish brightness of the day-orb pains my eyes, which were made by Sirab himself to pick out with great acumen the scurrying of a purring maggot across rough-hewn granite walls. This open sky is a Weakness. We have been attacked by bird-demons prior, and likely will be again. The roof of the rampart will be completed, in time. Gemclod will not be safe until it is done.



Though the unscrupled Vox Nihili has decreed that I should train in the military, to do so is no longer fitting, especially as he would contrive to have myself under his command. No sane overseer would risk their health, and by extension the health of Gemclod, by participating in battle against ruinous cave trolls and bird demons. To do so is unwise. I have much to do, and little time to do it in, for such is Tradition. I order Cythereal to take my place, for she gives her trade as 'woodcrafting', which offends my very senses. Only stone is worthy to be crafted.



Most disturbing of all are the metal-forges, which are open to the under-caves such that any manner of vile beast may issue forth from the warm dark and make assault on our smiths. More Incidents have been here than in any other area of Gemclod. I order a barricade constructed around the forges, such that there may be a chance to escape any similar attacks in future. Perhaps Vox or Markus may look favourably in retrospect at such conscientious adjustments to our Home.

But they shall not call me Boing the Wall-Builder, for these safety precautions are just that - precautions, for what is to come.

nimby wrote :-

A letter from nimby Logemshed

Dear Mother, I hope this letter finds you well.

Praise Sirab, Gemclod is real! I know you thought me a fool to abandon our home in Belalkogsak, but I still fear that our civilization will falter if we hold on to Tradition. For over a century kings have tried to win this blasted war according to Tradition, but every year they fail.

Anyway, we arrived here almost a year ago. Our group set out without much to go on, but I am sure Sirab guided us to this sacred land. While it looks, smells and feels like a fetid swamp, below the earth lies the heart of a volcano. In time, we shall raise a mountain of obsidian to build homes in.

However, while Gemclod is real, it is not yet the ideal place for dwarves. The previous male overseers all clung to their Ideals and it has resulted in the deaths of a woman and 2 other dwarves. Clearly their Patriarchal views are responsible! A woman would have planned and executed the construction of this fortress a lot better!

But all will change! I hear a female overseer, Boing, has been appointed! Clearly, mother, the following months will bring much riches and glory to Gemclod. May the forces of Emancipation free us of the shackles of oppression!

Speaking of oppression... I have enlisted in the Fortress Guard. They assigned me to a squad and my squadmates elected to calls us the Gilded Men.... Clearly I will have my work cut out for me to convince the men of the superiority of the women.

Your daughter, nimby Logemshed