It was the spring of the Year 500 when the first settlers of Daselrigoth rested their boots upon the snowfields of the Erased Forest at the southern edge of the Points of Shattering after a long two week journey around the mountain. Of the seven, each of them had their own reasons for partaking in this expedition, though none would speak openly of what it was that brought them here, leaving their old lives behind.
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“There - On that hill we shall make our burrow” The Expedition Leader suggested, pointing to the foothill to the south of where the seven had staked their cart. He was a middle-aged merchantdwarf, balding with a graying double-braided beard and mustache. Following him, the six others crested over the hill as the trader leading the expedition began to survey the ground around him, making mental measurements in his head. After a few minutes of deliberation while their woodsdwarf began clearing out the top of the hill of its trees he made his decision. “We’ll carve out the hill here into a grand fortification, taller than any miscreant can climb.” The expedition-leader declared, dragging his feet along the snow to mark-out areas for them to begin digging, envisioning a shining castle on the hill at the center of this field.
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———
Two weeks had passed since then as the seven had excavated their way down into the depths below the surface, having hollowed-out their hill to make room for basic farms and a place to hide away their provisions from the avaricious wildlife that called this snowfield home. The Expedition Leader, now taking on the working-name of ‘Chancebond’ impatiently went back and forth drawing out maps in the sand inside this hill trying to architect the best subterranean fortress his mind could imagine.
At this point, he had the basic blueprint of a grand-foyer with wide roads coming off of it to the north, east, and west, diverging into alleyways that would give the many craftsdwarves he anticipated privacy and space from the hustle and bustle of hundreds of other dwarves going about their days and nights. A grand housing-complex that could hold two hundred families in as little space as possible while giving as much space as could be afforded to each. The perfect blend of efficiency and lifestyle, so he thought.
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“Are we decided?” A tall copper-eyed dwarf asked, peering at the several maps-in-the-sand Chancebond had drawn. She was ‘HardlyBreaker’, the stone-carver and engraver that Chancebond had solicited to join his expedition just a month ago.
“It’ll have to do.” Chancebond uttered, collapsing onto the sand in complete mental exhaustion. “Tell the others this is the plan…” He ordered, drifting off to sleep in plain view of their Plump Helmet crop.
———
“The entire floor there needs any imperfections buffed-out, we can’t miss a spot.” The jeweler “Conro101” demanded, overseeing excavation of the foyer where their self-proclaimed ‘architect’ presumed all of Heavencrafted’s traffic would come through. Walking around the stakes placed in the stone he looked at the shale bricks piled up around what would soon be their trading depot ahead of the expected fall caravan. Surrounding it was the rough cavern floor they had hastily mined-out.
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In truth, mining and gemcutting were not particularly different tasks; Merely a difference in scale, to be truthful. He eyeballed the cave around him - Nearly there. To his front, housing and the daily services - To his right, industry and wealth. He nodded in silence and ascended back up the stairs towards their stockpile to take a drink of imported beer from the tap.
———
As the summer months began, only now did the snow and ice above their heads begin to thaw-out. Hardlybreaker spent her days crafting the finest furnishings she could carve from the endless supply of shale boulders the miners continued to bring her every day, while the carpenter ‘Kuru’ sat in solitary silence across the alley from her turning his logs into beds and other lightweight goods as his dark beard practically became an ocean. Above, the farmer ‘MysTerry’ toiled their small fields, working to keep the now ten dwarves fed and intoxicated on dirtgrown crops.
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Finally, as summer came to a close, the space for the ten pioneers to properly rest their heads, pray, and eat had been excavated, and they began to smooth-out the rough walls and floors ahead of the delivery of HardlyBreaker and Kuru’s furnishings.
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———
Chancebond sat down on the throne in the office that had been erected for him in the foyer and glanced out the murder-hole to his left that had been so boldly referred to as a “window” by the dwarves that had cobbled it together. Across from his station was Snakerer’s, the bookkeeper, looking about just as barren as his humble shale-brick office.
“We have guests, Feb.” The (rusting) swordsdwarf ‘Doom14’ declared to the expedition leader as she hoisted open the door to the cubicle Chancebond was hiding away in. The expedition leader groaned and lifted a cheap mug of dwarven ale off his table and brushed the dust and soot off his silk dress.
“Whom, roaming beggars?” He asked.
“We should be so lucky.”
“If not, then?”
“The representatives of the mountainhome, Chancebond.” The swordsdwarf finally answered, shaking her head and closing the door. Chancebond scrambled to his feet and swung open the door with haste, panicking.
“Bring everything of value that’s not nailed down here at once!” He ordered, grabbing the shoulders of passing-by craftsdwarves going about their day. “The caravan is going to be here soon and-“
“Ahem.” A dwarf not of Daselrigoth interrupted, walking down the stairwell into the foyer. “I am your liaison from the Mountainhomes. Let’s discuss your situation.” The dwarf stated, approaching the Expedition Leader.
———
The two sat over the table in Chancebond’s office with quill and parchment, taking simple notes as they negotiated the production and trade plans for the next year, hoping to avert the meager exchange that Daselrigoth was able to provide this year from happening the next.
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“I believe that’s all we will be needing then.” Chancebond stated, stamping his inked seal onto the parchment before him. Spider silks and a simple Gomath, all at a premium of double their normal value.
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“Then I shall see you next year.” The Outpost Liaison said, stamping their seal onto their half of the parchments. Chancebond looked over the contract one more time - Leather military backpacks, at a premium of twice their normal value. The representative offered their hand and the two shook before the liaison left the office to rejoin the caravan guards milling about around the foyer for their return trip around the Points of Shattering.
“Until then.” Chancebond uttered, collapsing back down onto his shale throne. The news from the outside world that Oddom Dastotzalis had delivered was not pleasant. The Dike of Gravel was on the warpath, and had begun conquests of land to the north and south in a campaign against the goblins of the Brass Cruelties. Meanwhile, the necromancers of the plains continued their foul practices unabated, spreading their darkness from the southern lands unopposed. Resigning himself to his duty, Chancebond began to put together a production plan for next year’s trades.