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[Mobbstar]

Chapter 9: Foil

110 Sa 26
Asmël has been longing to worship Mišar Kirar again.  Of course, he could simply pray every now and then, like the rest of us do.  But to the deity of persuasion, true worship cannot be done alone.

Dodåk hesitated due to inexperience.  Tosirid faintly recalls that the convent does not teach "ignoble forms" such as Quips.  Six syllables for context, then eight for content, then a pointe in four.  I've given Dodåk examples I had heard elsewhere, and she got the hang of it quickly.  With a better vocabulary, she could pass as a regular tavern speaker.

Darikon eagerly joined and demonstrated an impressive collection of metaphors, some of which relate to his artefact spike.  Owing to my lack of weaponry knowledge, I merely understood it is a sword optimised for thrusting.  As for form, I couldn't help but point out when he had miscounted syllabels.  Amusingly, he barked back with the correct amount.

Meanwhile, Asmël skillfully retold our adventures so far, earning many laughs and much acquiescence.

Tosirid and I listened intently the entire time.  We did not participate, but the audience was much appreciated.  In stark contrast, Čogon actively commentated.  His strong ideas about improving the art-form, while not bad per se, entirely disregard the tradition behind it, and were politely dismissed.

At some point, Ustir made the mistake of expressing her boredom.  What she meant is that she does not understand Deep-dwarvish.  (This language barrier is part of why I write these histories in Commontongue, lest somebody worries I write ill of them.)  To Asmël, the comment meant an insult against his profession and his faith.  I shall refrain of detailing his response.  We are now working to reconcile the two dwarves.

110 Sa 27
All seems fine, thankfully.  Asmël acknowledged the misunderstanding once he had calmed down.  He apologised to Ustir, and she reluctantly reciprocated the attitude, going as far as to phrase her reply as a rhyme.  It wasn't a good rhyme, but it got the point across, and that is all that matters.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 10: Reckoning

Music Recommendation: Antonio Vivaldi - L'estate III Presto

110 Ti 10
The new stilt houses withstand the constant barrage of water better than our initial shelters do.  It seems the bog is saturated by now, as puddles grow and coalesce into ponds.  Amöst fears the water level will rise, and the huts would sink into the soil.  We have no plans to act on this, though we are preparing wood for quick scaffolding and elevated platforms.

110 Ti 18
Såksël nearly died today.  She went out to top off our food stockpiles and got stuck in the ground.  Every attempt to move made her sink deeper.  Shouts barely made it through the noisy precipitation.  By the time we had boards down and rope to pull her out, she was chest-deep.  In the end, this only cost us a pair of boots and many nerves, but one cannot count on such luck.  We shall not stray from Ritharthikthog anymore.

110 Ti 25
I am running out of dry space for writing.  The huts are a lost cause, but we're attempting to turn the rooves into platforms, connected by simple walkways and covered by planks and empty barrels as to keep some supplies merely damp - as opposed to waterlogged.



110 Mo 19
In the midst of the pouring rain, slim boats glid on the flood.  We only noticed them when one was coming directly towards us.  Its two occupants must've noticed the desperate constructions, our struggle not to sink into the clear depths and the murky morass beneath.

The unexpected visitors were elves.  And they were aghast, seeing the outpost up-close.  We do not understand their language, and they soon assumed a sharp variant of commontongue.  "What sordid place is this?!"  Såksël had the courage to take initiative, and stepped out.  "This is the dwarven settlement Ritharthikthog."  "Dwarves?!  Why did you come here and deface the swamp so?"  Såksël stammered about the broken wagon wheel, and Asmël took charge by cracking a joke about the horses.  It wiped the furrows off elven foreheads.  After an inquisitive look towards the animals, the visitors apologised for their offensive introduction and asked to land their boats for a while.  "Be our guests!  But we have no land, only shallows."

It turns out the winter in this swamp is always excessively rainy.  The elves come every year to harvest some of the wild plants that sprout and flourish in this weather.  They told us how to prepare rice (the pond grain), what tubers are edible, which shrubs make cloth, how to brew so-called tea steep, which animals to watch out for when and where, and most important of all, they scolded us for clear-cutting the area.  Apparently the roots would've helped keep the ground stable, which seems obvious in hindsight.

Conversely, we explained the situation in the north, our purpose and misadventure here, and what life in the mountainhalls is like.  These elves are unrelated to the ones in the valley and have never seen a dwarven community before.  Neither had they heard of the Conflict of Clouting, which Mattöl told with straight face and bone-chilling detail.  Though I don't think the elves quite believe it.  We also informed them of the various kinds of stones and ores known to us, described how a forge works and why the human empire of the east cannot compete with our metalsmithing.  Üsën overcame her usual diffidence to demonstrate gypsum casts and obsidian tools.

I brought up our discoveries regarding the soil.  Though the elves know little about it, they call the flammable stuff peat.  We promised not to disturb the ground much, and given our guests' wisdom and experience with the swamp, we intend to keep this promise.

Finally, relations were good enough that we exchanged some goods before parting ways.  Despite their expressed purpose of gathering food, the elves had lovely toys with them.

Unfortunately, I could not write anything down during their stay, because they would've frowned upon our use of vellum if they had recognised it as cow skin.

Deluges are not implemented in DF directly.  Using DFHack, you can spawn a "range" of "static" water.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 11: Alone With Everyone

Music Recommendation: Micheal Mearns & the Monday Mornings - I Await

110 Mo 24
There is nothing to do but hope and be patient.  We have two stilt houses with barely enough space to accomodate all dwarves and animals, and flooded huts holding our supplies on their rooves.  I've counted inventory twice:  This should be enough to survive the deluge and restock in spring.

110 Op 01
There is nothing to do but tell old stories and repeat prayers.  For the first time in at least one year, I find myself truly bored.  At least the elven toys help the children stay occupied.  Îgboth and Išül don't seem to play nice with each other, but Detam can put up with either.

110 Op 08
The weather wears us down.  By now, almost everyone has caught a cold.  Tosirid, Čogon and Išül are down with a fever.  Luckily we have no shortage of drinkable water.  Üsen confessed she is a doctor for injuries, not disease, and thus cannot help them any more than the rest of us can.

Båb and Üsen grew up in the valley.  She was a digger until she found her calling after a mound collapse.  The pair moved to the town Moblab to help those humans recover from harpy attacks, and stayed for a few years.  Detam was born there.

Unsurprisingly, they decided not to raise their child in a place so dangerous, and that she should grow up among dwarves.  Hearing of a new successful settlement, one lacking medical dwarves, gave them the final push to move.  The stories couldn't have prepared them for this natural disaster.

110 Op 15
It is getting perplexingly difficult to keep track of the date.  The days meld together and each morning I cannot recall if I made a mark for the day yet.

Sleeping between horses and the sick is exhausting.  As Ustir put it, we wouldn't have the energy to do anything even if there were anything to do.

110 Op 26
Much of the past days has been a mere drizzle.  Could the rains finally be ceasing?  Even so, I fear the obsidian beneath will prevent any drainage, for however far it stretches.  Watching the water level slowly lower will be agony.  Darikon is in denial about this and insists we discuss it no more.  Everyone else found a seat somewhere between expectant and miserable.

I am considering to write as a pastime, but at this point I fear the children would ravage the vellum if they knew where it is.  They have already annihilated the toys and threaten to dismantle houses if we cannot entertain them.  We can hardly entertain ourselves anymore!

110 Ob 08
Asmël snapped.  Båb has been lazily drumming a barrel like an improvised instrument until Asmël threw it out into the blue.  I told him to "cut it out", to which he replied "Gladly!  Ustir, toss me the axe!"  He was probably just setting up a joke, but Ustir mumbled a cautious "uh nu-uh".  She looked scared, and Asmël must've noticed, because he dropped the topic.

But he was still riled up, so he turned on his heels and proposed a ban on unskilled music-making, with no shortage of vulgarity.  Tosirid began a response but derailed and babbled to herself.  Darikon joked that "Asmël just wants to keep all the music to himself."  I saw a glimmer of truth in that, and called him out for making up rules that don't apply to himself.  Darikon pulled back, not wanting to be involved in an argument.  His wife Mattöl did the opposite.  "Bromek can sing, too!  Why don't you two brawl it out?  Whoever has a working windpipe gets the right to music."  She seemed eager to throw some punches.  I was halfway with her on this, despite my usual self.

Rabîl came from the other house and told us to "Calm down.  Is anybody hurt?"  Only then I noticed Üsen sobbing in Båb's arms, and Tosirid's nervous twitching.  My memory fails me.  Apparently I repeatedly apologised until Ustir set me down.

The Weary Warriors should not be fighting each other.  How much longer must we hold out?

[King Zultan]

Dang things seem to be getting quite desperate here, hopefully the water starts to recede quickly.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 12: Emergence Season

110 Ob 14
Mattöl has gained weight during winter and shrugged it off as lack of activity, but at this point there is no denying her pregnancy.  Both her and Darikon seem unsure how to feel about it, but Üsën volunteers as midwife.

110 Ob 23
Our plans for the coming year are taking form.  Spring will be spent recovering from the flood and restoring our stocks, though Amöst believes there will be little to recover.  Either way, housing and supplies should be in order by summer, when we shall attempt piercing the earth properly.  Autumn will see whatever preparations be necessary for winter, when we hope to make crafts and celebrate.

111 Gr 05
At long last, it is shallow enough to walk on our old paths.  Without having to fear alligators, that is.  While we cannot begin work just yet, some time alone is much sought after by all.

That said, Ustir couldn't wait any longer and is already beginning to scrap the old huts.

111 Sl 16
A third stilt house stands, while a platform holds plenty of supplies.  Tosirid even found the barrels we had buried last summer.  The first we lifted contained swamp water, but the second remained tight.  A fine drop does much for the mood.

Mattöl has decided to stay at Ritharthikthog.  Asmël pointed out to me that she had only ever smiled at jokes before.  Now she seems genuinely hopeful.

111 Sl 27
Darikon is placing demands for safety and protection.  While Dodåk agrees with the measures, she believed he is taking his own child more serious than the others.  Her dismay earned a snappy response, but Dodåk did not yield so easily, and neither did Darikon.

Eventually he admitted "I've already lost a child to monsters.  I will not lose another one."  Then he explained, with tears in his eyes, why Mattöl and he left:  Their son, a gnome of three years, had been eviscerated during a harpy attack a year earlier.  Darikon bore witness to it all, and eventhough the creature has been struck down, life has been miserable to the couple since.

The only attractive thing about this outpost was how far it is from the Entrancing Mountains and all bad memories there.  Now they remember life goes on, and recognise the danger of this treacherous soil and its denizens.  We agreed to not let the children stray beyond our supervision, especially not alone.

111 Fe 21
One of the houses collapsed thanks to Îgboth picking the foundation apart.  Though uninjured, he is currently getting scolded by Dodåk.  Whether the child even comprehends this is debatable, but his mother hereby effectively spares him of Čogons scorn.

Meanwhile, Mattöl is doing well and expecting one more month.  Upon Üsën's request, Rabîl and I are preparing soap.

111 He 10
Alongside the rise of the sun, a baby was born this morning.  The Weary Warriors are celebrating Tårdëm's healthy first day in the legendary lands, here at Ritharthikthog.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 13: Second Shift

111 He 22
The soil seems dry, therefore we launch a second attempt at mining into the obsidian beneath.  This time, we have knowledge of the groundwater flux, Üsën's digging experience, and of course her sheer size as well.



111 Ma 15
We have broken into the bedrock and are laying the foundation with the resulting material.  However, our lead miner and Dodak believe they are both pregnant, and therefore cannot continue the physically intense labour.  Clearly, they made good use of the reclaimed space and privacy in spring.

111 Ga 03
Apparently, Id and Okol's caravan told the story of Ritharthikthog all across the clan.  22 dwarves arrived today, more than doubling our population.  They have been inspired by the flourished words, humbled by the dreary assessment, and encouraged by our perseverance.

Among the flurry of praise slipped a "boldness to defy the queen's orders".  We have been assured this was not meant in a rebellious way, but yet we fear our queen Inet may take such rumors amiss.  Sending a messenger to mend relations may be wise, if only we could spare any pair of hands here.  The new arrivals are great succour, and though we will be hard-pressed for appropriate accommodations, this may bring the strength to finish our excavation.

I'll be honest, most of these people are miserable in some way or another.  The "weary" in Weary Warriors has gained a much wider meaning.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 14: Extradition

Music Recommendation: I Monster - She's Giving Me The I

111 Ga 05
Two nights passed and I still haven't talked to every new arrival.  Båb and Dodåk manage to maintain some semblance of order as we try to accomodate and employ them all.

Ritharthikthog needs a mayor at this point, and Asmël rose to the occasion until we can hold a proper and informed vote.  While he doesn't seek or accept help with the position per se, he doesn't enforce decisions either, rendering his title neither de-jure nor de-facto.  That said, I appreciate what he does.

Amöst does not want to be seen as a guard of the pantry, therefore we agreed I will maintain official stock records from now on, kept separate from these histories.

111 Ga 08
A human has arrived.  We do not understand his language, but he was armed with a longsword and shrouded with frayed purple cloth.  Now that he has calmed down and holstered his weapon, Asmël and I are trying to find out---

As I was writing, the gallop of horses drew near.  Twelve humans, armed with whips and swords, rode a circle around Ritharthikthog.  Our earlier guest fell quiet and hid in the excavation site.

One woman, by the name Jeñe, was fluent in Commontongue and explained that they were chasing the bandit Pum-Pik.  He had been stealing livestock and even murdered a herder to that end.  The thought of a murderer hiding among the children was blood-chilling, but Jeñes manner of speaking was also disturbing.  Her tone was vicious, never soft nor grieved.  The wide brim of her hat was upturned at the sides, but downturned at the front, giving her eyes a menacing contour against the summer sun.

Then she asked "You don't happen to know exactly where he is, will you?"  With only two armed dwarves, we were vastly outnumbered, yet they made no direct demand.  Perhaps they had heard rumors of what a martial trance can do to a dwarfs opponents, without knowing that neither Amöst nor Såksël are capable of such feats.  Asmël is, and in a stroke of genius proclaimed "A criminal must be judged.  Assemble the ting!"

Of course that was a bluff.  We haven't had the time to agree on a ting yet.  But it meant we could stall and discuss our options.  While the humans pieced together what a ting is, the ad-hoc šöfs of the Weary Warriors consulted.

Immediately, we agreed not to surrender Pum-Pik.  Even if he is a bandit and a murderer, he has so far made a more civilised impression than his persecuters.  We couldn't count on hosting a fair trial ourselves.  All combat scenarios lead to unacceptable risks and casualties.  Some dwarves could join the humans and keep eyes on the matter, but odds are none would be willing to leave with these strangers.

Ultimatively, we agreed to have Asmël continue the guise of obtuse dwarven laws, with a dash of merchandise to keep them hooked.  "The human Pum-Pik has been found guilty and sentenced to a year in the dwarven dungeons!"  As we feared, Jeñe took issue with that, replying "The kaiser won't take that as answer.  We'll take Pum-Pik to the royal jail."  "Hmm, but *dwarven* dungeons have their prisoners make trinkets to repay their debts.  Can we trust you to deliver said trinkets to-"  A man cracked his whip and growled.  Jeñe translated the wordless message as "He comes with us."  To my surprise, Asmël didn't even stutter.  "Very well!  The Empire of the West shall conduct the punishment of Pum-Pik to precisely the intended extent.  We will gladly trade our miraculous metalworks when you return him next year-"  "Return him?!"  "-for the ting to formally conclude the retribution, and handsomely reimburse the kaisers expenses of course!  Just as dwarven law sees to it."

Some of the dwarves overheard this and managed to communicate the gist of the agreement to Pum-Pik, who then voluntarily joined the begrudged but compliant humans.

The Weary Warriors dearly need an audience with queen Inet.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 15: Deep Society

111 Ga 11
Finally, all fourty Weary Warriors came together and agreed on the state of the outpost.  Most notably, Asmël has been accepted as mayor for a year, until we know each other better.  Amöst is militia commander and in charge with assessing who is fit for duty, or at least training.

We also have a ting.  Of the founders, the afforementioned two are illegible and Såksël declined.  The šöfs are Ustir Otem, Čogon Fiküd, Tosirid Fimšur, Mattöl Geniš, Ebodîb Sušeg, Tuthöm Ngökit, and I (Bromek Šigun).

Our priority remains to secure stone access and underground lodgings.  Tents will suffice for now.

Lastly, a messenger party will venture to the mountainhome while the terrain is still dry.  Three dwarves have been chosen for this:
- Rabîl Čatthol, whose urge for descalation is backed by strong convictions and wisdom
- Mëlvil Gamül, as she is knowledgable of dwarven law and its roles
- Bromek Šigun, for my histories may need to be justified, and that is best done by myself and in person[/li][/list]

111 Ga 13
Ustir gave the messenger party a pep-talk before departure.  She desperately wanted to come along, but is sadly not fluent in Deep-dwarvish, so there would be little point to it.



We have spent the first day of the journey discussing what else we plan to do at the mountainhome.  As it turns out, Mëlvil is daughter to Councillor Gulonin Mugtak.  Rabîl assures me this came up during the conference and I simply missed it.  Mëlvil doesn't seem like she would withhold such important information on purpose.  In fact, she eagerly shares personal details and takes gossip in return.

111 Ga 17
This time of year, the green praeries are not as lush as their name suggests. Nevertheless, it is suprisingly pleasant to travel here.  Rabîl uses the time to explain his ideas of a fair society.  I doubt they would work, so long as some people still hold more power than others.  Mëlvil doesn't seem to care much, but has relevant stories on occasion.

111 Ga 22
It feels good to finally be among mountains and hillocks again.  Everything here seems to be the same as it ever was, for better or worse.

111 Ga 26
Mëlvil invited us to her family's hillock for the night.  Councillor Gulonin was there and treated us well.  Two of Mëlvils siblings - out of eight total - were also there.  Warm welcome was followed by warm supper, alongside stories of Ritharthikthog.  It would have been cozy to the point of bliss, were it not for some backhanded compliments and odd remarks.

Mëlvil said she came to Ritharthikthog out of curiosity and to meet new people.  But now it sounds more like she tried to escape the expectations of her family.  At 53 years of age, she is still unwed and has no career besides some forestry.  The role of outpost representative earned her some respect, but still not enough to compare to everyone else's success.  No trade volume, no renowned skill, nobody at her command.

I admittedly played along more than I have any right to, bearing no notable achievements to my name.  Eventually Mëlvil excused herself up the ladder.

"Think she's off to sob again?"  Gulonin answered with but a disappointed sigh.  Rabîl hadn't said anything, but his plea was clear in the look he gave me.

For the record, she was not sobbing.  The two of us talked out of earshot.  "Don't take the teasing to heart, Mël.  Some shrooms take their time to fruit and that is fine."  "I'm not 'taking my time'.  I *could've* done more, gone deeper, take the gold.  I just didn't bother to break the obstacles.  I'm lazy..."  "Really?  You carried your weight during our whole journey.  Literally, and also in labour.  Getting firewood is not lazy."

"But I give up when work gets hard.  Same reason I stayed home one more year:  So I wouldn't have to work hard founding Ritharthikthog."  "Heh, you missed out on a winter of doing precisely nothing.  ...Look, your family is used to hot metal glowing, but dark metal can singe just the same."  That cheered her up a bit.

"When we meet Inet, can you back me up? Like that?"  "Of course!  I will cite the histories and assert the facts while you lead the discourse.  And should things get tough, have Rabîl take stance."

Now I sit here, hastily writing this while Mëlvil is down there, saving face.  Tonight might turn out to be practice for the audience, and I will play my part as promised.

[Mobbstar]

Chapter 16: Burden of a Clan



I am not yet happy with the audience chapter, so have this drawing in the meantime.  Honestly, my schedule is generally difficult right now, in part due to the upcoming 7DRL.  I will take a few weeks off.  Sorry to the three and half people who are reading these when they come out.  Consider it a season finale.

[brewer bob]

Take your time with the updates, no pressure. Been enjoying it this far (and liking the art too!).

Good luck with the 7DRL!

[King Zultan]

Good luck with the game you're making.