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[AlmostEverywhere]

My latest fort had a very interesting first few years, and I thought it would be cool to tell its story from the eyes of one of the dwarves.  If people like it, I'll keep it going.

The Story of Mosus Otunglitast

 My name is Mosus Otunglitast, "Mosus Shocktorches", and I'm writing this to record the events at Ardesoltar that led to my becoming expedition leader, since it seems no one ever kept a diary of events here at Ardesoltar.  I imagine I'll keep this private for a while, since this manuscript shall reveal a tale a bitterness, revenge, tragedy, and death.

 My story starts back at the mountainhomes, where I trained in stonecrafting.  My father always taught me to be sensible.  "There's plenty of stone in the mountain, son.  You'll never go hungry if stone's your trade!"  Well, it turns out that our mountain had been damn near hollowed out.  The stone was all either in important walls or statues or furniture, and new stone needed to be quarried from so deep in the mountain that it was terribly expensive.  But I heard tales from returning merchants of a new expedition, named "Authorgilt" for some reason, which had just begun to dig out its home and was currently only home to seven dwarves.  So I packed up my bags and left with a group of about twenty others, to set out for this fortress.

 Everything seemed reasonable when we arrived on a fine mid-spring day.  There was a rushing river at the bottom of a cliff below the fortress, and a large wall had been erected around the entrance with drawbridges to protect it from invaders.  Nonetheless, I felt ill-at-ease with the surroundings, almost as though they were... haunted.  A glance northward revealed a deep chasm that must have been home to all sorts of beasts, and to the south I saw a magma vent that just had to be crawling with firefiends.  On the way to our new home, we passed some angry-looking elven traders as they left.  I was ready to spit at their feet, but after a good look at the bowmen with them I changed my mind.

 "Insolent dwarves!"  I heard one mutter as they passed.  "Who does he think he is, demanding such prices for our goods."

 Apparently the elves had left in a huff, not over the typical tree-hugger quabbles I'd often heard of, but because the expedition leader had offered so little for their wares.  A pity, I thought, as I noticed a giant tiger in one of their cages.

 When we arrived, I first met Urdim Cattenallas, the self-named "Grand Leader" of Ardesoltar.  He seemed a bit strange right from the start.  He barely seemed to care what professions we had.

 "Animal caretaker, huh?  I'm not that into animals myself... I think you'd best learn how to fight.  To the barracks!  Hm, a fisherdwarf AND a fishery worker?  Oh, that's no good, we only really need one dwarf to deal with fish.  Why don't YOU go make yourself useful smelting ore?  We just got the magma furnaces up and running!"

 I had mixed feelings about the magma furnaces.  On the one hand, I had made rather good friends with a fellow named Mafol Dolushbim on our journey here.  He was an armorer, and so I was glad to hear he would get to practice his trade.  On the other hand, I later found out that the "Grand Leader" Urdim had channelled the magma through a tunnel from the vent, and decided to block the magma creatures using iron bars connected to a lever via stone mechanisms.  As a stonecrafter, I knew nearly every type of stone would melt when exposed to magma.  The andesite used by "Fixit", the fortress mechanic, was no exception.  So thanks to Urdim's foolish orders, there were now wasted iron bars lying on the floor of the magma flow, with nothing to stop any imps or fire men from sneaking into our fort.

 When I had my initial meeting with Urdim, I told him prouldy that I was a stonecrafter, and I could take boring rock and form wondrous crafts.

 He scoffed.  "Well, I don't know.  We've had our resident woodcutter Zan making stone crafts for the caravans, and he's quite good at it.

 Zan happened to be beside us at the time, and chimed in "You know, Urdim, I've just become sheriff, and we'll need a lot of wood chopped to make beds for these new migrants.  Maybe it would be better if I stopped crafting for now."

 "Oh, but I do so love those crowns you make!" Urdim said.

 I added "Please, just give me a chance.  I'll make you proud, and make the fortress rich!"

 Urdim seemed to mull it over for a while.  I don't know why; the choice seemed obvious, since Zan didn't even want to craft any more.

 "All right, here's what we'll do.  We'll build a second craftsdwarf's workshop, and you can use that.  That way, Zan can still craft if he wishes."

 This made very little sense to me.  I went away grumbling a bit... I shouldn't have to argue so hard in order to MAKE WEALTH for HIS FORTRESS.  But at least I would be able to practice my trade.  I hated it when dwarves refused to be sensible, and I could tell that I wouldn't be getting along well with this strange "Grand Leader".  This would turn out to be an understatement.

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[AlmostEverywhere]

Things seemed all right for a while, although Urdim's pigheadedness continued to astound me.  Even though we were running low on wood, barrels, and bins, he used large amounts of wood for water wheels and axles in his personal project trying to make a perpetual waterfall down the center of the fortress.  When he unveiled the project for its grand first run, it didn't work.  All that wood was now sitting useless, submerged under water.

 Around that time is when... Kivish... started his work.  Kivish.  Even just saying his name makes me wince.  He was in the same group of migrants as I, and I couldn't stand him from the start.  He'd always wander off doing random things, speaking whatever came on his mind, becoming angry with little provocation... generally, he was simply not very sensible.  But a few months after we arrived, he got even weirder.  He ran to one of the magma forges and claimed it, forbidding anyone else from entering.  He then gathered up some copper and iron and worked mysteriously for several days, not stopping to eat or drink.

 This sort of thing happens once in a while.  A glassmaker that came with us went into a similar mood shortly after we arrived, making a cherry opal hatch cover.  But Kivish was working even more fervently.  When he finished "Ultrawax, the Arrow of Insight", even I was impressed by the copper earring.  Having arrow-like spikes on it, I could see where it got its name, although I thought naming an earring "Ultrawax" was a bit tasteless.  This was not the problem, though.

 No, the problem was that afterwards, Kivish said he felt so terribly BETTER at metalcrafting, like he was some sort of... metal...crafty...god-guy.  He asked to be allowed to use some of the precious metals we had been excavating (that fool Urdim spent much of his spare time mining, and had found gold and tetrahedrite... I guess he's easily distracted by shiny things).  Kivish took some electrum bars, and created an exceptional bracelet - worth $1100!  ELEVEN HUNDRED.  That's ten times more value than anything I could hope to carve from stone.  Suddenly the whole fortress was excited about his prowess.  He began churning out gold, silver, and electrum crafts at an alarming rate.  A silver earring worth $800.  A gold idol worth $1400.  A masterwork electrum crown worth $2400!  Suddenly, no one was stopping by to ask how my stonecrafting was going.  No one seemed to care how many rhyolite scepters we'd be trading to the humans this summer.  I had become useless.  My rage seethed silently inside me.

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[bhelyer]

Nice work; I'm enjoying it.

[Lemnx]

Ooohh this is good! Conflict... intrigue.... seething rage!

Please continue!

[AlmostEverywhere]

Ok, I'll keep it up.

The other dwarves had started called Kivish "The Moneymaker".  But I wouldn't be waylaid by foolish nicknames.  I toiled with my andesite and microcline night and day.  When the humans came, we would see whose work they preferred!  I frequently had conversations with Mafol the armorer.  He seemed none too happy with the situation, either.

 "That blasted mayor has the miners and smelters spend so much with the expensive metals that there's only tiny stocks of hematite!  We barely have enough iron to armor up the four dwarves in our military, let alone for weapons!"

 "I know, Mafol.  And have you heard?  He's planning ANOTHER waterfall, claiming he'll get it to work this time!  There goes a bunch more wood, wasted.  But he's the leader.  I guess we'll have to put up with him... for now."

 Well, the humans did eventually come, and all crafts were ordered to be hauled to the trade depot.  I took the time to loveingly finish a wonderful cobaltite amulet, and so I was a bit late in assisting with the hauling.  I finally arrived at the Depot, breathless, pulling with me a large bin of my most prized works, certain the humans would be impressed.  I found that our "Grand Leader" was already there, chatting with the humans."

 "Ah, Misses!"

 "Mosus."

 "Of course.  Anyway, I'm afraid you're a bit late.  The bulk of the trading's done!  And look how well we made out!  Thanks to the crafts of our wonderful Moneymaker, we've practically bought the whole caravan!  We got nearly everything of value they have!"

 I found myself aghast, unable to speak.  My mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish, as I clutched the bin.

 "Oh, we've got another bin, eh?  Hey!  Fellows!  Looks like we're not quite done!  Let's take a look.  Hm... looks like we've got an extra bin of crap!  What'll you give us for a bin of the cheap stuff... maybe some of that mule meat, or a little plain unweaved undyed rope reed thread?"

 I ran from the Depot back to my workshop, not waiting to see what the humans gave for the "crap".  I vowed, Grand Leader or not, that blasted Urdim would rue the day he dismissed Mosus Shocktorches.

[AlmostEverywhere]

Shortly after the trade, the booze ran out.  It turned out that Urdim bought so much food from the humans, it used up every last barrel and then some.  Our drink supply, which was already low, had quickly depleted itself while the barrels went to store more of the food.  Some of us tried to explain the concept of stockpile management to Urdim, but he looked confused, and after five minutes he fell asleep, forcing us to (awkwardly) leave.  With so much wood going into the "Waterfall mk 2" project, and our only woodcutter crafting mugs at our leader's request, it looked like we'd all be drinking from the well for a long, long time.

 I seized this opportunity to garner support against Urdim.  I found it easy, I enjoy speaking to crowds.  In our new statue garden (nearly all of them crafted by the "MoneyMaker"), I would ask: "The tetrahedrite used for this statue could have been used to make a copper barrel for alchohol!  Why wasn't it?"  Dwarves were beginning to listen, especially the other crafters and smiths, who were jealous of Urdim's pet moneymaker.  Mafol even began giving speeches at the well when Urdim wasn't around.  The miners, on the other hand, would always take Urdim's side.  I suppose it was natural, as they spent a lot of time together digging away at gold and silver.

 Then, it happened.  It was a couple weeks into the booze shortage.  I was looking for Mafol, but couldn't seem to find him anywhere in the fort.  I asked a passing peasant if he knew where the armorer was.

 "Oh, 'im?  Yea, y'know bout the Grand leader's orders to gather up any outdoor corpses into the stockpile inside the walls?"

 I knew about the order, though I tensed when he called him "Grand Leader".  The order was one of the few sensible things Urdim ever did, since the bones helped us train our pair of marksdwarves.

 "Well, Urdim done seen a dead cave swallowman a ways south o' here, and so lickety-split he done sent Mafol off to collect 'im up!"

 That seemed odd.  There were cave swallowmen about; the chasm was full of them, but that was to the north.  What could have killed one way down to the south?  Worried, I ran to the top of the hill above the entrance and scanned the countryside.  There was Mafol, all right, and I could see the corpse he was walking toward.  But from my perspective, I could see something Mafol couldn't.  I saw what killed the swallowman, as it flew around above the corpse.  It was vaguely humanoid, but had huge, batlike wings, and a jackal's head.  It had tightly-stretched skin, a long tail, and needlelike horns extending from it's head.  I nearly froze in panic.

 "Nightwing!"  I heard myself whisper.

 As Mafol approached, the creature began to swoop down toward him.

 "Run, Mafol, run!"  I cried out, knowing he couldn't hear me.

 Finally, Mafol looked up and saw it.  He let out a scream, turned around, and begin to flee.

 Regaining control of my senses, I ran down to Urdim's office.

 "Urdim!  There's a nightwing by the swallowman corpse!  It's chasing after Mafol!  We've got to send out the military quick!"

 "Hm?"  Mafol was holding an electrum puzzlebox (do I need to mention who crafted it?)  He seemed thoroughly engaged with it.  "Oh, you mean that armorer?  The one who's complaining about the lack of iron production?  The one who's tried to use the forges when The Moneymaker wanted them?  The one who's been blaming me for the alchohol shortage?  That armorer?"  His voice became low.  "I'm sure he'll make it back okay."

 My heart froze.  Our supposedly "Grand" leader had known exactly what he was doing when he ordered Mafol to pick up that corpse.  I could understand him not liking Mafol, but... this?  It couldn't be worth it!  It made no sense!  Panicked, I ran back up the hill and looked out again.

More to come!

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[ February 22, 2008: Message edited by: AlmostEverywhere ]

[Fenrir]

Run, Mafol, run!

[Lemnx]

The creativity of the DF community continues to amaze me....

[Fenrir]

Come on, man! You can't leave us hanging like this!

[Bullion]

we need a good gory bloodbath to sort that git out.

[AlmostEverywhere]

Thanks for all the feedback!  Good to know you're enjoying it!

 Mafol was running back in the direction of the fortress, the nightwing a short distance behind him.  He tripped and fell over!  But he was up again and running before the nightwing reached him.  But as I watched, my heart sank.  He was no longer running north, towards the fortress.  He must have been disoriented by his fall, for he was now running east, towards a sheer drop of at least thirty feet.  I watched in horror as he stopped short at the edge of the cliff.  He turned in desparation, trying to move south again, but now it was no use.  The nightwing swooped down onto him, knocking him down with a butt from its horns.  It sunk its fangs into Mafol's neck.  I turned away.  I had heard tales of Nightwings' feeding, and it wasn't something I wanted to see done to my friend.  I wiped away a tear from my cheek, and went back into the fort.  It was time to have a chat with our "Grand Leader".

 "Mafol's been killed."  I tried to keep my voice steady.

 "Has he?  That's too bad."  He was still playing with his puzzlebox.

 "ALL you had to do was SEND OUT THE SOLDIERS, they might have MADE IT on time!"

 "Calm down, now, Mesus.  There's no need to shout."

 I could no longer contain myself.  "MAFOL COULD HAVE SURVIVED!"

 A passing peasant overheard me, and poked her head into the office.  "What, is poor Mafol dead then?  Aw, shame that, quite a shame.  Guess I'd better be off to get his corpse and go bury the poor chap."  She turned around and headed for the fortress exit.

 I stared at Urdim.

 He glanced at me blankly.

 I stared at him some more.

 He played with his puzzlebox.

 "THAT PEASANT'S GOING TO GET KILLED BY THE NIGHTWING IF YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING!"

 "Oh, fine!" grumbled Urdim, as he put down his puzzlebox.  "I'll go and order the soldiers out there right now!  Happy?"

 I was anything but happy, indeed I was fuming as Urdim walked out the door.  But now I was also confused.  Was this leader truely sinister, or just truely idiotic?  The peasantry mostly still supported him.  It didn't make sense that he would take so long to try to save one.  This mayor was truely an unsensible dwarf.

 I headed to the lookout hill.  There was a bit of a crowd gathered, as news of the nightwing had spread.  We watched as the hapless peasant travelled south, with our grand military of four dwarves behind her.  As they arrived the peasant ran off, and the nightwing swooped at a swordsdwarf.  But all that training in the barracks payed off.  She managed to block its horns with her shield, and with a swing of her obsidian sword, cut off the beasts right wing.  As it fell to the ground in pain, the other swordsdwarf and a marksdwarf made short work of it.  I closed my eyes, feeling validated that in some part I had gotten revenge, as I had personally crafted the sword that felled the beast.  Later, I would personally make a totem out of the nightwing's skull.  But my vengeance was only half complete.

 I embarked with several others to assist in burial and the hauling of Mafol's personal belongings.  But my mind was elsewhere.  Sinister or incompetant, I decided it no longer mattered.  If the leader was sinister, he had made a grave error in guessing how many dwarves followed me.  If incompetant, he deserved what was coming.  I decided I would make my move by the end of the summer.  There would be no more needless deaths.  No more unnecessary deaths, but at least one more that was needed.

[Jreengus]

I love this kind of story great so far keep it up  

[ricemastah]

Awesome!!

[Fenrir]

Poor Mafol.    KILL THAT GRAND LEADER BASTARD!

[Lemnx]

Literary masterpiece!