Smithbridges, year 184 - Part II:
Gelding Cats, Desecrating Books and a Bunch of BardsFirst things first before anything else:
We have a ghost problem going on. I've been personally haunted by the dead, which is quite disturbing. That thing needs to be sorted out.
There. That should do it.
The dwarves are busy cleaning the mess above ground. We would have so much else to do, but I guess this is a rather high priority task. It's for the best to clear as much as possible before our enemies return.
Despite there being lots of junk outside, I ordered many of the miners to stop hauling and rather do what they do best: dig. Urvad grabs a pick and gets to work.
What? We have a mayor? Since when? Why wasn't I informed?
Guess I'm a bit at loss of what's happening at our humble little home. A good thing I got my nose out of the pile of papers.
However, I have a bad feeling that the mandate was ended because it wasn't fulfilled... And the angry nobility are known to dole out harsh punishments for such idleness.
Ah, almost forgot about the cat issue. That should do it.
Delphonso picks up his trusty gelding blade and heads to do the ungrateful job of cat gelding.
“There just clearly isn't much appreciation for gelders these days when cats are allowed to breed like rabbits all over the place,” Delphonso thought.
“Now where is that blasted cat?”
Ah! There he is!
A deed is done. Only six more to go.
Delphonso didn't take particular pleasure in his duties. In fact, he was a bit shocked of being attacked by one of the kittens he gelded.
One of the masons, Zaneg Kifedeshtân, is struck by a fey mood. He heads off to claim a Mason's Workshop, which fortunately wasn't currently in use.
He screams for rock, logs, rough gems, cut gems and metal bars. All of that should be doable. We'll see what he's up to in no I time.
...That is if all goes well.
Oh crap. Of course we don't have a depot!
Well, there's so much work to do that the elves will have to wait at the outskirts of Smithbridges. Besides, it's not like they brought anything interesting with them...
Poor, poor Udib. At least he isn't babbling anymore.
Indeed! Zaneg managed to complete the artifact, claiming it in the name of the family ancestor Olon Crushsacks. What kind of name is that? Possibly a gelder with some questionable methods.
Saràmthum, “The Great Muscle”, a shale armor stand.
This is a shale armor stand. All craftsdwarfship is of the highest quality. It is encrusted with round brilliant cut chrysoprases. This object menaces with spikes of shale, willow and chrysoprase. On the item is an image of a Stramkacnu's monster in gold. On the item is an image of a gray langur man in willow.
On the item is an image of The Great Muscle the shale armor stand in tiger iron.
Of course it has an image of itself on it.
...And the name. The Great Muscle? That sounds awfully lot like a certain muscle that some scholars call the gluteus maximus.
A scroll. Being dumped. What an outrage! Such blasphemy! Oooh, wait until I find the miserable lout who is responsible for such heresy!
And in the same pile there's more literacy that _someone_ thought is trash! Good thing I stopped to check the pile. I guess it's a blessing that I'm used to keeping stock of things. Someone less keen of mind would have missed it. And oh, what a loss would that have been!
My soul aches and guts churn even at the thought of books being treated like old, tattered pants -- which, mind you, we have a plenty.
And it just so happened that I ordered pig tails to be threshed constantly and also commissioned several looms to be built next to the Farmer's Workshop.
We need to keep our fellow dwarves clothed.
...And in order to do that, we hastily built a depot next to the bridge going over Sinboils and traded a bunch of crap for some elf clothes. I know there'll be some disapproval, but it's either elf clothes or nude for now, my fellow dwarves!
Besides, the elves were ecstatic with the trade. We don't need any more enemies with all these sinister types and their strange monsters lurking about.
Oh, and we also bought a black mamba.
Um, and a giant hedgehog.
Good. The threshers and weavers are busy.
I will order more pig tails to be planted. We need a lot of cloth to clothe the whole fort. We can't rely only on the spider silk found in the caverns.
Ah! Visitors! Yes!
Yes, we opened a new tavern called “The Earthen Harvester” (quite an ominous name, if you ask me). And the first visitor is named...
Pis.
Err, right.
The tavern itself is located along the passageway to the caverns, lined with smoothed stone pillars. Those returning from the caverns can grab a nice refreshing drink before heading back to the fort proper, or possibly pray at the shrine dedicated to Asën next to the pub.
Some migrants arrive. No doubt they've been lured here by the recently opened tavern.
Fath, a miller, and his wife Bim, a peasant are the first of the group followed by Sigun, a cheese maker (blessed may she be!); Tulon, a herbalist and _legendary_ dancer (I think we might have a job for him at the the Earthen Harvester); Olin, an animal dissector; Thob, an eleven year old girl; Urist, another cheese maker and killer of five dogs; Libash, a milker; Dîshmab, a ten year old boy; Aban, a farmer (by Vesh, how many migrants are there coming?); Udib, a miner and legendary tracker; Kûbuk, a brewer; Asmel, a five year old girl; Domas, a shearer; Tun, a skilled hammer and speardwarf; Kol, a herbalist; Èrith, another herbalist; Deduk, a milker; Udil, a peasant; Zuglar, a bone doctor; Nil, a papermaker (ah, finally someone useful in our quest for a proper library!); Kogsak, a peasant; Edëm, yet another peasant; Kib, a metalcrafter; Urist, a peasant; and Zon, one more bloody peasant to the list.
That brought our population to eighty-one, uhhuh. We don't have even rooms for most of the previous fort members. Where will we cram all these dwarves?
Guess it's time to plan out some personal quarters then.
There.
That's the plan.
Seventy-two rooms.
That should be a start, and on the west and east sides we'll carve out small nooks for simple shrines, in case a dwarf feels the need to pray in the middle of the night.
'Avolition' was engraving the walls of the new tavern and made a masterpiece: Matul Vesrul, “The Dance of Worms”.
A masterfully designed image of Thîkut Throwermerchant the dwarf and a Stramkacnu's monster. The monster is striking down Thîkut. The artwork relates to the death of Thîkut in the Hills of Wind in midwinter 67 during Ngiraokgush, “The Furious Assault”.
Wonder what the poet was thinking when creating such a brutal image on the walls of our new drinking hole?
As spring neared its end, 'Obsidian', our manager, was the first to visit our grand new library! Finally we can store our books and scrolls in a proper place!
The library, still mostly unfurnished, was carved into the rock pillars of the caverns:
Unfortunately the art of writing was not as appreciated as the art of downing liquor and singing rowdy songs:
Well, at least the new tavern was filled with all sorts of poets, bards and
other misfits performance troupes... Perhaps some of them will eventually petition to stay?
And thus ends spring.
=====
So, that's spring. Got a bit carried away by taking screenshots, so I didn't end up accomplishing so much.
I'll try to continue (and hopefully finish my turn!) my turn tomorrow, but it might be that I don't have so much time until Wednesday.
Author
Topic: Smithbridges riverside succession fortress - Overseers needed! (Read 13713 times)