First Blood
Yes, finally, the grounds are nearing perfection. Rocks gone, smooth grassy soil all around. Grassy where it's grown in, dirty where it hasn't. He'll be so pleased with my work. Such a large following I've gathered for him, too. Soon now, the tower will rise above the ground, a testament to my faith, and all shall be enlightened.
Braym's Journal
7th of Slate, The Year 509
Nine long years it's been. Nine long years with nothing to write about. The years were easy at first, pick some berries and bring em over to the farmers. After a while they didn't need me doing that, so I got reassigned to the "Beautification squad" drying out the muddied bottoms of lakes using planks of wood. They had me doing that for a long time, along with all of the newcomers. I don't know why they came, and kept on coming, but they did. Story probably got out around the Mountain Home of a Fortress where the food was free, and the days easy. Yeah, the food is free, but you don't know hell until you've spent Nine years of your life stirring mud around with some wood. Everyone's just waiting to go insane here, I'm amazed it hasn't happened already. What we're doing isn't natural, it's undwarven, living up on the surface, not a mountain in sight. Sure we've got lots of booze, but it's always hot from being in the sun. Hot Booze ain't natural. I've got to get going, there's a fuss over by the southern side of the crater. That's what they're calling it, cause that's what it looks like. It's almost done, too.
Why do you challenge me, God? I've always lived in your service, always listening in my sleep, and doing what you ask of me. These fools question me. They yell with anger in their eyes, and blood covering their hands. I know they won't harm me, I know you protect me. Do not worry, I shall never question you, for I know that what you have shown me is the truth.
Braym's Journal
13th of Slate, The Year 509
Armok, the things I've seen now! The things I wrote, I take them all back! Let us all go back to that horrible mockery of a life we lived before that day. They came as they would, all of us knowing to stay away from the alligators when they decided to make their way through the crater. We all knew better from the one time a group of three dwarves, sober for a bit too long, stumbled over towards one, swiftly ending their lives upon it's sharp teeth. But in the hellish monotony of doing nothing for years, in the sun-caused craze that we've all felt from day to day, a dwarf decided to challenge not one alligator, but three, unarmed.
Goaded on by his friends, that idiotic dwarf enraged the beast, and it struck faster than one would think it could. In a matter of seconds, the dwarf lay there, bleeding to death, his friends soon to follow. Twelve dwarves they took, as easy as that, and they would have taken more had the overseer not hastily started shouting at a group of nearby dwarves to do something. He screamed at them, spittle flying from his mouth, commanding them to attack the alligators that were quickly approaching the rest of the dwarves. They dutifully charged the reptilian monsters, and managed to subdue one, punching it into oblivion, only suffering one loss. While they stuggled with the already unconcious beast, trying to end it's life, but struggling only having their fists to do the deed, the other two split up, one alligator running out of the crater and away, and the other moving closer to the panicked dwarves. It snapped at two more dwarves, breaking their necks, before it too turned away.
The impromptu militia raised itself as one, most of their fists resembling bloodied stumps, and returned to the center of camp, to sleep on the ground as we've been doing for years.
Though for the past four days sleep has been rare, as the shouting never ceases. Shouting at eachother, shouting at the overseer, shouting at the skies, it's all the same. Some dwarves have taken to fits of rage, whenever the day becomes too much to deal with. Even my beloved Kari has given in to the occasional outburst.
I suppose it would be fitting if I explained who she is, first, so I shall. She was one of the original members of this expedition, along with me, always so strong and proud, she was a carpenter, usually tasked with the construction of barrels to fill with berries and booze. I took a liking to her from the first moment I saw her. Her striking red beard would make any dwarf envious, and the care and intensity she put into each barrel she crafted was a thing of beauty. She knows of my attraction to her, but sadly she has never shown any interest in me. Even knowing how I feel about her, she has still been a great friend over the years, often sharing a warm ale on a starry night.
Regardless, it was last night when she had just finished crafting the last coffin for our fallen brethren. The task was not an easy one, and it had taken a clear toll on her emotionally. She was walking through the night, alert for any danger, ready with her axe in her hand. I saw her, and was going to call out to her, but chose not to, and instead just watched as a cat went up to her from behind, and Mewed solemnly. What came over her, I know not, but I saw the pale glint of iron swing through the moonlit air, cleaving the cat in two, the fiery hairs of her beard twitching. She fell to her knees and cried, and I returned to my tent, the image haunting me, preventing me from sleeping.
I should have tried to console her.
Okay, that's another part of the tale! I don't exactly know why my carpenter was walking around with an axe, but I thoroughly enjoyed watching her tantrum the hell out of that cat. It wasn't even hers.
I'll admit to Braym not being a real in game dwarf, but I assure you that Kari most certainly is, and she only gets more badass in the next chapter.
Comments and Criticisms please!
