Journal of Bad Munki
1st Granite, 266
"A Flaw in the Design"
I have been dead for nearly nine months now. It has not been easy. However, if we only did what was easy, this bastion of Dwarven civilization known as Gemclod would not now exist. So I carry on, with the knowledge that I am accomplishing what the dwarves of Gemclod need.
The dwarves that first came here sought to preserve the past. To that end, they instituted a time-honored tradition: one year, one leader. Every year, the position of overseer is filled by a new member of the population. Thus far, we have seen four overseers. In this way, we avoid becoming stagnant. This is important.
The most recent overseer sought to preserve the present. To that end, she grew defensive and afraid of those that may challenge her rule. She sacrificed many dwarves in the name of safety. She sent innocent traders to the caverns and possibly their deaths, either for fear they may bring the enemy, or due to paranoia, or simply out of blind rage. She lost one of our greatest protectors, Enzer. This is important.
And so I find myself in a position to guide Gemclod, to preserve the future, and I pray to the spirits of those we have lost that I will have the fortitude to accomplish what must be done. I believe that what I do here is important.
Shortly after my arrival here in the autumn of 262, I was appointed bookkeeper for the fortress, and I did my best to keep track of absolutely everything that transpired. If anything was out of order, I knew it would be my fault. Because of this, I was often aware of more of the goings-on in the fortress than much of the population. Of course, it was not my place to actually influence the multitude of projects, merely to sign the proper work orders, track the stockpiles of stone, and ensure we had enough food and drink to keep the workers happy and, therefore, productive.
It was one of the original seven founding dwarves who first approached me about the future of the fortress. It was clear she was deeply concerned and feared for all the dwarves of Gemclod. She was a devoted protector of the fortress, and I felt compelled to listen.
It was nearing the end of Leperfish's time as overseer. CommaToes was unable to walk, Star Guarded was still injured, and Vox Nihili was thus next in line. My guide trusted Vox Nihili with the rule of the fortress; that was not her concern. What she was concerned about was what would come to pass after his rule. She feared he lacked the foresight to pick a ruler that would lead to success for the fortress. And so she explained to me what must be done.
It would not be easy. We would need to have much in place, in the event of disaster. And we would need to put everything in place under the watchful, critical eye of our soon-to-be-overseer, Boing. A dwarven mother is not a thing to be toyed with, but we knew what was at stake.
We began by occasionally spiriting supplies off to the caverns. It was easy enough to accomplish this part of our plan, as I was completely in charge of tracking the stockpiles. A barrel of ale here, a butchered carcass there. All of it was transported by unsuspecting haulers most of the way to the caverns. They don't tend to ask questions, as they simply wish to finish the job at hand and return to the great hall to join friends in drink and food. My mentor carried the supplies the remainder of the distance herself. At that point, I didn't even know where they were going.
Nearly everything was in place as the end of Hematite approached, year 265. The time to act had come. A group of goblins was still wandering about the swamp outside our walls, and Boing was clearly agitated. I had my part to play, and so I approached Boing and informed her that a caravan of traders would likely arrive soon. In spite of her disapproval, she orders the trade depot readied. My guide and mentor was charged with sealing off the ill-conceived drain.
She pulls the lever.
The wall that seals the depot begins to lower.
Boing sees me standing there, unaware of the rapidly lowering bridge.
I am crushed, with absolutely no chance of survival.
My body is irrevocably destroyed beyond all hope of recognition.
I suspect my mentor acquired the goblin from one of the traps that had been set out in the field. The disguise was convincing, at least from a distance. The creature had been bound and gagged, the latter concealed by a thick false beard, and was already near death when it was released near the depot. Perhaps that was why it simply stood there, looking lost, as the wall lowered and crushed it.
Of course, several days prior, I had been given explicit instructions I was to follow. "Wear this particular outfit that day. Inform the overseer of the traders. Exit the area immediately. Leave all possessions except what you are wearing. Travel directly to the caverns. Speak to nobody. Wait for me there."
And so I did those things. On my way to the caverns, there was a commotion, and I was able to easily make my way to the caverns unnoticed. After several hours, I was joined by my mentor and she took me to the final destination. I had not yet been all the way to the enclave, as it was important to maintain genuine ignorance, should Boing make an unfortunate discovery.
When we arrived, I found all the supplies we had garnered, enough to last well over a year. Nearly everything was as I had expected. I say nearly, because there was one item present that I had not foreseen: a companion, one who had been here for nearly an entire year already.
And so we hid here until now, doing our part for Gemclod: waiting. Waiting until Boing has finished her work. As expected, she appointed nobody as her successor. She is too preoccupied by her offspring to be bothered with anything beyond her immediate reach. Some may claim she did Gemclod a disservice. I know better. Boing has done something wonderful for Gemclod: she has brought us together. Perhaps in fear, perhaps in dissent, but nonetheless, the dwarves of Gemclod are as one at this moment.
And so for now, my goal is to maintain that. I still receive reports of the fortress operations, via a crude sort of mail-chute to our enclave. Those that deliver them think nothing of it: like most haulers, they simply know the job: deliver all reports to that chute. I return the responses from those reports to the fortress via my companion: she delivers them to a drop point, from which they are picked up by more haulers and re-introduced into the system. Through this mechanism I will begin my time as overseer of Gemclod. The dwarves will form committees and take votes, it is natural to them, but such is the bureaucracy of dwarves that they will do all of it anonymously and I will receive the results along with my reports. I will return the tabulated results via the mechanisms already in place, and as such will have ample opportunity to influence the direction of the fortress.
Soon, my companion and I hope to be free of this self-imposed prison. However, now is not yet the time. The dwarves of Gemclod must believe that they are the ones now making decisions, that they are guiding the future of this place. The understanding that they are all in this together is critical to the success of Gemclod. Beyond that, I must also be sure there is no chance of Boing attempting to regain control of Gemclod from the hands of one she would surely consider a traitor, even if the only deception was to remove myself from the population of the fortress with the help of Gemclod's greatest protector, the death of whom Boing is directly responsible for.
I know that Enzer did not foresee much of what Boing did. However, I also know that Enzer had no intention of dying by Boing's orders. As they say, the design is flawed. Measures must be taken to correct it.
Kithrixx wrote :-
Epee Em posted:
The Warhammer and Pick make a nice emblem for the People's Republic of Gemclod, don't you think?
Sometimes I pay attention and then things happen.