Granite 7, 260If you’re reading this, I’m probably long gone by now. Does that sound too dramatic? Probably, whatever, your opinion doesn’t matter, chances are, you’re not real. What? It’s not like anyone is going to read this mess. If it were so, I would’ve erased the giant phallus on page four by now.
Anyway, what the hell was I talking about again? Oh yeah, I don’t know what any of this is! I don’t even know why they needed an overseer! And that’s exactly why I created my own reason! I’ve decided to build my base of operations! A secret locked-off area of the fortress in which I will be residing and ruling over the fortress! That, and a meat pit for Shofet. Turns out he was serious about that murderboner. Caught that bastard with a self-fashioned crocodile-head codpiece in the dining room today.*
Note to self, remind Shofet that “pasture” and “murder to death” are two completely separate actions.
Granite 10, 260What do you mean there’s a giant toad right outside the pastures?! You haven’t done anything about it yet? Let’s fuck ‘em up!
...Right after I figure out where the lever to lower the two drawbridges are.
Right, we’re pulling all of them!
Granite 14, 260
Oh goddamnit he did it again.
I’m starting to see why Shofet was sent here, because he won’t stop punching things to death! Icehold hasn’t seen the light of day in three goddamn months because he punched the clock after a hard day of murdering things, and time itself broke at his fists!
He stuck his first in to what essentially was a giant teapot shaped like a toad, and murdered it.
Worst part is, it didn’t even have the decency to provide a graceful death. It fucking exploded! Forget what what you hear the children sing, the little teapot has changed! Here was it’s handle, it’s spout is about three feet to the left, and it’s lid and base lie shattered over in the corner with the rest of it’s mangled corpse!
Slate 2, 260I caught Black Pat curled up against the wall in the privy, choking back a mixture of sobs, and botched song lyrics. Such a shame, really. Not her depression, that’s petty, just how someone manages to sing “Enter Snowman” that poorly.
Slate 13, 260Quasar knelt down to the briny foul smelling pool of tepid water that seems to to be all but forgotten - more forgotten than the beast it used to be but days before. Removing the glove from his right hand, his stuck his two fingers into the muck, and tested it for consistency, before nodding aptly, and wiping his hand on an adjacent Igor (or in this case, new Igor), smearing it into his shirt. Igor shifted uncomfortably, but did not dare speak out, for he still has nightmares about the last time someone spoke out against him.
“Experiment three, observation of condensed-”
“That’s fucking disgusting, you know that, right?” interrupted Blackstock, who hadn’t yet learned what happens to those who interrupt the good doctor.
“I might appear that was to the lesser minded, yes.”
Blackstock groaned, but softly, putting more throat into than anything. He figured opening his mouth wide open to a room full of potentially-deadly vapors wasn’t the brightest idea he’s had.
“Look, be a smart-ass all you want, but when you come down with a case of hyper-syphilis, don’t be surprised when the treatment is ‘summary amputation’. And let me tell you right now, that Shofet fellow? He doesn’t use a scalpel.”
“Pleashe maths- masth-” New-Igor sighed as he tripped over his scripted lines. He felt all those years of speech therapy being undone by one internship with a mad doctor. He couldn’t go on, not like this!
“Master, please.” He began, foregoing the lisp. “Perhaps it’d be best if we were to… depart.” Igor still had nightmares about what became of Shofet’s first, and last cat.
Quasar narrowed his eyes at Igor, who had completely abandoned the masterful script that he had painstaking prepared. He stared into the dwarf’s eye, thinking about what “experiment” that Igor was to receive for this insubordination. Crundle pit? Bowl of spiderwebs? Finger in the quern? Only time would tell.
Quasar said nothing, but retrieved a vial from his coat pocket, and scooped up a bit of the forgotten-water from the floor, and went on… Well I wouldn’t say merry. Vaguely scientific way?
20th Slate, 260Construction of the secret underground fortress continues! I’ve just got the tapestries going up, and I nicked some checkerboard tiling from one of the disused dining rooms. Soon, I’ll have a throne room to call my own!
-
1st Felsite, 260 Twenty-some dwarves huddled around a burning fungiwood barrel. The leader of the bunch was sure that hadn’t got lost. You just had to follow the Lokast river all the way north! And everyone knows that most rivers flow north! Anyway, something was obviously wrong, because this frozen wasteland didn’t exactly look like the lush Green Kingdom that they originally set out for. All they found was a giant ice spire out in the middle of nowhere. Mysterious and scenic, but still bloody cold. And watching the lot, was Trigon himself, posted on watch. Watching for what, he didn’t know. Rumor has it that Blackstock locked him in the watchtower as an unusually cruel punishment, since he has no beard to keep him warm.
And so he watched. The neverending blizzard obscured his vision, and those black dots in the distance began to look like snowmen. They sulked and moped around in the distance so miserable (probably from the sub-zero temperatures). Trigon felt something deep within himself. A burning sensation of emotion. Feeling for his frozen kin, out beyond the walls. Either that, or the beginning stages of hypothermia, but nevertheless, he knew he had to do something.
Something drastic.
Goddamnit, Trigon.
8=======================D
BLACKSTOCK’S A KNOB
-H6th Felsite, 260Cheesemakers and spinners, bah! I should’ve let them freeze! What, are you gonna call me cold hearted, dearest journal? It’s for their sake, not mine! They’re not criminals! I swear, I spoke to one of those bastards, and asked him why they sent him to this hellhole. He didn’t know what I was talking about, as expected. He went on to tell me that he’ll be fine, and that he shot a bird when he was twelve, and only cried for two hours, assuring me the entire time that this had hardened him for life here in joyous Icehold.
Though it’s not all bad. The was one, who was set to establish the Green Kingdom as an Official Land of whatever, but we managed to “convince” him that Icehold would be the perfect replacement for that position.
And naturally, I plan to establish myself as “Baron of Icehold”. Maybe I’ll finally garner some respect if I strap that title to myself. Yeah, I’ll even get my own task force! Get Shofet and his group of murderfucks to sort things out for me!
At least, that’s what was supposed to happen.
Ablel came to me, asking who was incharge of this whole mess. I recommended myself, of course, but Honeymoon… She barged right in! Didn’t even let me finish! According to her I was just some errand boy with a power-trip! can you believe this?! That whole “gentle giant” thing she had going on for two years was just a facade! She was waiting for this moment! And gods almighty, she took it!
And now the bastard demands a better room.
7th FelsiteBlackstock sat in his “office”, twiddling his thumbs. Well, stood, the chair hadn’t been placed yet. The room was still in renovation, with half the walls unfinished, and a strange cobalt liquid seeping out of the cracks in the tiling. Construction would’ve gone quicker if the larger part of the workforce were allowed to know about his little underground fortress, but for whatever reason, he wanted to keep this little prison-inside-a-prison a well kept secret. There was a knock at the door - one of the few furnishings that actually got installed down there.
“Come in! And be quick about it!”
Two dwarves entered, one carrying a chair, the other carrying the look of guilt. The one with the chair set it behind Blackstock without a word, and took off. The other stood there and tried to look less miserable. Blackstock finally took a seat, and began his spiel.
“Trigon, is it? Well, I would’ve told you to have a seat, but as you can see-” He paused, motioning to the unfinished walls “I don’t exactly have an office. Now, remember that lever you pulled?”
“The one you told me to pull?”
“Precisely! Would you like to know the consequences of that action?”
“You mean the action of following the orders you specifically told me to do, going so far as to nag me every waking minute?”
Blackstock glared at him, and was about to slam his hands on his mahogany desktop, only to remember that it hadn’t been brought it yet.
There was a knock at the door. Blackstock said nothing this time, but this stranger let himself in anyway, being strong independant dwarf he/she was, not needing anyone to invite them in.
It was Shofet. He was hefting mahogany table like it was just a slab of balsawood. He said nothing as he set it down in front of Blackstock, and walked away. Blackstock lifted his hands, and prepared to slam them down on the table, but waited until the thunderous footfalls of Shofet were out of earshot. Then and only then did he finally give the desk a profound beating.
Trigon wasn’t impressed.
“Is this supposed to be intimidating? Just because my beard got shaved doesn’t mean my balls disappeared with them.”
“Nevermind that! You let a vampire into the fortress! Vesh’s little bastard was killed!”
There was another knock at the door. It was a dwarf carrying a chair. She set it behind Trigon, who then pushed it towards Blackstock’s desk, and walked off, not even bothering to excuse himself.
Blackstock sat there, a little bit more than mildly unnerved. There was only one thing left to do. He inhaled deeply, and…
“SHOFET!”
And Shofet was there.
20th Felsite, 260
Hello again Journal! I’ve had about twenty of these bastard farmers accost me over the past week, going on about how “one of the animals has gone mad” or something about “frothing mouths”. So like any other good overseer, I go check it out, and the little bastards are breeding! They’re fuckin’ everywhere! Why are all the farmers obsessed with cave crocodiles? See, this is what drives Shofet mad! This is why he’s angry all the time! These bloody things must be some sort of catalyst to his rage!
So that's just the spring update. The rest will be up tomorrow. For real this time.
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Topic: Icehold, the Dwarven Prison: Overseers desperately needed! (Read 37557 times)