I hope it's OK for a non-overseer to post from their dwarf's perspective? I downloaded the save to take a peek at the fort and found she had some interesting relatives, and had to comment on it.
----
This is a guineafowl-parchment paper. On the paper is a letter in dimple dye.
Little Brother,
Well, I've put this off long enough. I promised to write you, to bring you news from your son Bomrek, to tell you why the merchants weren't able to deliver our letters.
It's not good news. I'm sorry.
Bomrek has been dead for ten years. He died in battle, protecting this fortress. I couldn't find anyone who knew him personally, but apparently, ten years ago, Doomforests was nearly destroyed by a monster from the depths. Bomrek was among the ones who died fighting to protect the fortress.
I've gone to visit his grave. He has a basalt coffin in a chamber carved into the stone, laid to rest along with other warriors who died in that battle. They have honored him as one of their own. You will see him again, little brother, in Armok's halls. Your son died a hero; never forget that. It probably isn't much comfort to you, but at least we can be proud of him.
As for me, I am well. I am working with bone, as always. You can tell Mother I still disagree with her; her beloved stonecraft may be more traditional, but stone is so unforgiving. Perhaps it's something about this place, or perhaps Bomrek's spirit is giving me inspiration, but I've found the time to really hone my skills here. If I can talk them into it, I'll try to get one of the elves from the caravan to bring you one of the crundle-skull totems I've been making along with the usual bone practice bolts. No guarantees, though; I'll be lucky just to convince them to deliver the letter. You know how elves are.
I've decided to stay here. I do hope you're not too angry with me, little brother. I can't really explain why. I feel I'm truly content here. Take care of Mother; give her my love.
Your sister Callista.
---
A middle-aged dwarf sat at a table, absent-mindedly tapping her fingers, gazing into the distance. She hadn't told her brother the whole truth, she knew. Oh, yes, Bomrek was dead; and yes, there had been a beast; but she had not actually been able to learn exactly how her nephew had died. She remembered Bomrek from his youth, a solemn boy who swore he would make something of himself, then a young adult learning to handle a pick, determined to dig his fortune out of the rock of some distant frontier outpost. Had he truly died a hero? She didn't know. But to say he had--to give what comfort she could--that was an older sister's duty to her family, and so much more important now that she had decided not to return home.
Here, she felt, she could be part of something important. She would carve the bones into beautiful things, useful things, each bone with its history, each one once part of a living thing. The graveyards here were full; there was no mistaking that. And yet--that very idea, the danger, the excitement, attracted her. Here was a place where history could be made, where heroes and monsters were still part of everyday life. As for the prospect of occupying one of those coffins--well, she reflected, she worked with bones every day, turning death into something beautiful. Maybe carving bones was really just a metaphor for life.
Or perhaps she was just getting sober again. Yes, that was probably it. Perhaps there was still some barley wine left....
The dwarf rose, rolled up the scroll and dripped some candle wax onto the edge to seal it. Then she put it in a pouch and left the room, in search of barley wine.
Poll
Author
Topic: The Hastening of Doomforests (Read 430933 times)