Spoiler Urgh... I swear, this is the last time I will try to drink the bartender under the table. I know I've said this a thousand times, but from the looks of things now, I don't think I'll get the chance to do so. I woke up last morning with the most terrible hangover in the middle of this Rakust damned desert with two other dwarves and no idea how I got there.

I talked with the two after I woke up and they said something about old boots? I didn't really care what they were talking about, I just wanted to find some civilization. Sand and dunes as far as the eye could see, no mountains anywhere. Definitely not a place for dwarves.

But, I kid you not, there was some dinky little outpost in the middle of the sand! The other two were ecstatic at finally finding this place, but I'm less than enthused. From my current situation and what my 'companions' said; apparently when I lost that bet against the bartender, I took his place in a group that got sent out of the mountain homes to help with some sort of expedition.

I've heard of these 'expeditions' and from the rumors I hear, they're all horrible death traps. This place seems like no exception to this rule, it's barely a hole in the ground with almost no protection from whatever terrible creatures could be out there.

Gods help me, I'm too young and pretty to die. If you're reading this than I've probably starved to death or been eaten by giant lizards or something. Ugh... lizards. Oh, and brother? Me taking your lamb is revenge for you breaking my toy forge when we were children. Now we're even.

Spoiler
If those bastards don't care enough to remember my name, then I won't either. From now on, I'll just be some dwarf. Some donkus, even. And one day, one day soon, I'll be so important that I won't need a name anymore. Everyone will know Ashenirons, the richest and most powerful queen on the continent. Just you wait. I'll show them. I'll show them all.

Spoiler
Now that I think about it, the "Future Overlord" thing seems a bit forced. Well, at least I'm staying optimistic.

When I swore I would make a name for myself, I never imagined I'd be famous for being the most hopelessly lost dwarf to ever die in a desert. I'll admit it, I jumped at the chance to follow this northward expedition without a lot of thought. I just got fed up and needed to get away from all the hidebound rank-puffery of the mountainhomes. I did, slightly, storm off without even bringing a wagon or any supplies. Note to self: think before acting in the future? Of course at the time it all sounded perfect: a new expedition, a mountain of riches, an incompetent and easily replaced leader. In hindsight, following someone who I pegged as incompetent was probably a bad idea. The wagon tracks kept going, and we just kept following, and before I knew it there was sand all around and the tracks were gone.

Tomorrow I'm going to persuade Dizzy to let me eat her goat.

Spoiler
We somehow didn't die. Finding the colony was pure luck, since it's just a hole. My first act as leader will be to erect a very tasteful tower so that immigrants can see it from the horizon.

I was hoping for something a bit nicer to seize control over, but this is okay, I suppose. There's at least a lot of sand. We can make a fortune in glass if there's anything to power furnaces with. The seven who were here first keep going on about some monster called boblins that none of them have seen. Possibly they're invisible? I may have to train a special division of my army to deal with invisible monsters. They've also bred a lot of ducks, and the colony life seems almost suspiciously duck-centric. Ducks are nice and edible at least. They'll feed a fortress if you can breed enough of them.

SpoilerI and the rest of my expedition – if it can so be called – arrived at the Palace of Taxes yesterday, as you no doubt well remember. You asked for a report detailing how we came to be here and why, and I hope this missive will answer just that.

Truthfully, it's a fairly simple story: I'd felt unfulfilled for some time back in the Veiled Pulley; I'm a somewhat accomplished craftsdwarf when it comes to potash making, which afforded me a decent, steady living, but little in the way of noticeable contribution to society, and less in terms of excitement or – dare I say it – danger. I had heard rumors that a group of dwarves had struck northwards in pursuit of riches and glory for some time, and utimately decided to join them. Unfortunately, my husband wasn't willing to leave our life and home behind, nor were any of my friends and acquaintances; this left me facing the prospect of a desert trek on my own, which was not a pleasant one. I sent out inquiries to other dwarven settlements, looking for interested parties.

Few responded. Too many dwarves are too complacent, which is why I admire the adventuring spirit you and your settlers display so much. In fact, of the two dwarves I was able to convince to mount an expedition with me, one subsequently pawned off his place in the caravan with a bar bet. Too complacent. Much too complacent. It was disappointing, as I wanted to be certain we'd have a competent brewmeister at the new fortress, but now that I'm here, I can see you already have that well in hand.

The journey itself was... largely uneventful, in that it was a lengthy trek through the desert. Unpleasant but exhilarating. Without many particularly noteworthy happenings that I feel need to go in this report. One of my companions, Dizzy, had become so drunk before disembarkation that she actually stayed heavily inebriated through the whole trip, which I feel is an impressive feat even for a dwarven metabolism. I understand she is a leatherworker of some skill, which rather serves to reinforce the stereotypes about tanners, doesn't it? The other one never gave me her name, and now seems to be holding that against me. She is... worth watching, I think. A strange woman, very guarded.

I hope to serve the fortress however I can; all I want is to be able to see the results of my labors. I understand that there is a burgeoning farm underground here, which would likely benefit from my potash, but there also seems to be a shortage of fuel for burning, given the climate. I would understand if you preferred to save our wood for more permanent use, and indeed as much would be preferable to me. A new start can mean new skills, and a new way to contribute to the fortress.

Thank you for taking us in; I – and we – will prove valuable.

SpoilerIt seems that diary-keeping is very much in fashion in this new fortress; indeed, I can barely sleep above the scratching of pencils, pens, and – in the case of the doctor – a duck-pinion quill. Every dwarf seems to want to record their thoughts, and it seemed best to go with it. It almost makes me regret not doing so on the journey here; the incident with Dizzy and the cactus-beetles would have made an excellent drinking story, if only I could remember all the details.

I've sent a report to Thriggle, the leader of this – honestly somewhat less wilderness-ready than I expected – group. It seems strange that she asked for one rather than just hearing from us directly, but whatever makes her feel like she's in charge, I suppose. I made it perhaps somewhat more unctuous than was necessary, but it's probably better to stay on her good side, especially if I want to escape the drudgery of another few decades burning potash.

Ugh.

I'll see how it goes. Sooner than later, I'm sure; as few dwarves are here, we can't afford idleness, and I suspect Thriggle will have me assigned a task before the day's out. I'd love to do something like ranging or hunting or beekeeping, something I can get out and risk myself a little, but anything will be a welcome change.

And some fresh-brewed ale and duck eggs will be a pleasant change from travel rations and eating cactus fruits when those ran out.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

The three migrants have only been here a short while, and already another miserable creature crawled out of the desert in their wake, apparently a straggler from their party. Did they know he was following them? With him he brought a rabbit.



We of course welcomed him into our home. I'm sure Leafsword will be glad to have some, er... masculine company. His own size, that is.

I mean, I thought Doctor Palamedes had disappeared once, but it turned out he was standing behind a cactus. Don't have to worry about that with this new guy.

SpoilerOOC: Whoops, paused too early... heh.

Spoiler
With four new bodies willing to work for the security of our ducklings, it's important that jobs get assigned quickly and intelligently.

We haven't struck any metal ores yet, but it's clear that we'll need high quality weapon traps to keep out the buzzards, and weapons and armor for Leafsword to fend off the bug people. Fortunately, I had the foresight of bringing some bituminous coal, cassiterite, and malachite from the mountainhomes. I assigned Some Donkus to make coke from the bituminous coal and to make bronze from the cassiterite and malachite.

I set Gnauga to cutting and setting a few gems, to let him get settled in, but then I turned his attentions toward creating a bronze set of armor for Leafsword.

The other two I put to work constructing stone blocks and building walls so that our entryway becomes more defensible



Everyone has something to do!

Spoiler

Spoiler
Wow, summer just flew by!

Lots of progress to report, diary.

First of all, Operation Bathwater is drawing to its conclusion. Masterblade carved some fortifications into the side of the sewer wall and discovered damp clay loam on the other side. All we need to do is break through the wall and we should have plenty of water safely attainable from inside the outpost.



Tripps is currently taking a break from felling trees and carving beds to set up a sort of drawbridge which we can use to stem the flow of water, just in case. Palamedes' mechanisms will prove invaluable for the final product.

As part of Project Duckling Defense, our entryway is now considerably more secure.



Walls encircle most of the entrance area, cutting it off from the East and shunting north/south traffic through some bronze weapon traps. Our war dogs guard the way from the West, which we've otherwise left open for caravans. A drawbridge would be a good addition to our Western gate, so we can lock down in case of attack.

We are still not 100% safe from those dastardly buzzards yet, due to the lack of a ceiling. I hope we can floor it off entirely from the upper story and post some marksdwarves on the roof.

Speaking of marksdwarves, Schazer seems to be enjoying herself.

She discovered an entire flock of giant cockatiels!





We should have plenty of meat to sustain ourselves now.

But just in case, I've ordered a few enhancements to Operation Outmart-A-Tortoise:



Should anything manage to get past the cage traps, it will also have to get past some cunningly concealed serrated bronze blades!

And as an unplanned but welcome enhancement to our security, the war bitch Leo gave birth to puppies today! These little pups will surely grow be sturdy defenders of our home.



I have a feeling that nothing can possibly go badly for us from here on out!

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

Apparently the yak cow gave birth to a calf today. That's exciting, I guess, if you're into that kind of thing.



What's more exciting is that Purple Walrus is about to open our bathwater tunnel!



She's breached the aquifer! I've ordered the lever to the drawbridge pulled so that we can gauge its effectiveness.



A glorious victory and testament to the engineering skills of Purple Walrus and Palamedes! We've re-opened the drawbridge and now we just need to dig some wells in from the rooms above.

These chambers running along the sewer are prime real estate for our hospital and barracks.



With the conclusion of this project, we can devote our miners to the important task of prospecting for metal. If this is truly to become a colony worthy of The Playful Razors, obsidian and gems are simply insufficient.

Spoiler
Level 0: Walls, doors, and traps surround our hole in the ground. We can lock the doors in a pinch, but we'll still need to set up a drawbridge to close off our caravan entrance. The yellow bars are honeybee hives maintained by Slorange... still deciding where we should ultimately put them. Maybe on the roof?

Level -1: Our entry tunnel. Green cage traps at the base of the stairs going up(where they won't block the caravan ramp), and cheap white stonefall traps in front of the stairs going down. Hatch covers on top of the three stairways going down, which we can lock if necessary.

Level -2: Farms, farmer's workshop, and seed stockpile.

Level -3: Well access and hospital/barracks (under construction)

Level -4: Dining hall, food storage, kitchen, still, fishery, butcher, and animal byproduct industries (leather and soap). Note the cute little duck hatcheries on the left and right. Well water sewer tunnel is on this level.


Level -5: Workshops and stockpiles. Also housing. Will need some doors soon to keep out the workshop noises so dwarves can get a good night's rest.

Level -6: More housing. These quarters are rather massive, in dwarf terms.

Spoiler
While I love gems, and I was hoping to set some for dearest Slorange (I know how she loves her carnelians), Thriggle told me that Leafsword needed some armor to fight off "the ravenous hordes". I think he meant the bug men outside, but they seem right harmless to me. Still, I get his fear, and I don't mind helping out one of the guys. Plus, it couldn't hurt to have a guard for when the goblins finally find u

The rest of this paper is scrunched and crumpled

Spoiler
FUCK ALL MOSQUITOES THOSE BLOODSUCKING BASTARDS
I'm getting a drink.

Spoiler
While I was separated from Slorange, one of my traveling mates was a pretty experienced architect. She described a type of entrance that could only be crossed by wagons. I think it looked something like this:

Shitty scribbles fill a third of a page

I'm gonna send a copy to the overseer.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I don't know how, but our secret expedition must not have been as secret as we thought.



Six more migrants joined us today, desperate souls unwilling to languish in the stifling, claustrophobic halls of our homeland. Brave enough to march on foot through human and boglin infested territory, to an unknown land and an unknown future, they are truly worthy individuals.

What I don't understand is how they keep arriving from the north side of our outpost, coming out of the vast black desert instead of the grasslands to our south. Perhaps they followed the human route to the Mountain of Riches by boat, then--finding no evidence of our outpost there--wandered south through the desert to seek us?

I spoke briefly with our new migrants to assess their skills and worth to the outpost.

The aged Pick Your Poison Groovelance and Naut Minedipped are a wed couple. The husband Pick Your Poison is a hunter of no small skill, claiming 81 kills from the Vanished Jungle during his time as a member of the Mysterious Diamond in the mountainhall of Blowngilt. Naut is a seamstress and gem cutter. Pick Your Poison did not bring his crossbow for some reason, so I guess we'll have to make one for him.





Kumil Dentcloistered is an elderly soap maker who apparently left his wife behind in the mountainhall of Orbstongs. He told me he's confident under pressure, so I assigned him to mining duty so he can travel to the more highly pressurized sections of our outpost.

Kadol Circleguilds is a weaver also hailing from Orbstongs. She told me she's here "for the kicks." I told her that as long as she's careful while milking the yak cow, she shouldn't have to worry about kicks.

Rovod Laborboards and Vucar Roomspecial are another married couple. The wife, Rovod, tells me that she really like pressing things, but I fail to see how one can make a career out of such a hobby. She also claims to be competent at hunting with a crossbow, though she says she's never shot anything other than stationary targets before. She brought a bronze crossbow and 34 copper bolts. Her husband Vucar also practices the crossbow as a hobby, but the only living things he's felled are trees. I was delighted to see that he brought a bronze battle axe with him. I appreciate that these two are willing to contribute to our success with their own resources, especially given the metal shortage here.

Speaking of which, shortly after I was alerted of the new migrants arrivals, Leafsword told me that he and Purple Walrus had spotted a vein of Galena deep in the mineshaft. This is excellent news; we can smelt galena into lead and silver. The silver we can use to make nice, heavy hammers, crossbow bolts, and enormous spiked balls to drop on tortoises--it will also make some nice furniture. The lead we can trade to the elves or something, I don't know.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I was helping construct a second mason's workshop today when Leafsword's feverish voice cried out, echoing from the central stairwell.

He'd been digging out the recently uncovered vein of Galena twenty stories below the surface when he made his discovery.











Amazing! Purple Walrus was right about the intriguing geology in this black sand desert, and the obsidian was indeed evidence of vulcanism.

And not only have we struck magma, but we've uncovered a vibrant subterranean cavern system!

Purple Walrus, digging nearby, eagerly poked her head into the caldera of the ancient volcano and helped Leafsword identify the gems and ores visible along the walls of the cavern, illuminated by the orange glow of the magma pool. Not only galena, but copper and iron are here for the taking!



After we make some preparations and safeguards against the volcano and its denizens, our anemic forge and the trappings of our metal industry can be dismantled, and new magma-fueled operations erected near the pool.

But the caverns and magma, boon though they are, may be dangerous if not approached with respect.

After we'd all ogled at the beautiful glowing interior of the pool, and the glittering walls of the cavern, I ordered Leafsword to wall off the stairwell. Even back in Lashedwebs it's common knowledge that the creatures of the caverns are oftentimes more fearsome than the beasts that creep upon the surface of the world.



A floor below, level with the magma pool's surface, I've told the miners to carve out some rooms for the magma forges.



We can build our own mountain of riches right here in this desert; we no longer need look to the promised supply caravan for rescue.

Spoiler
I received a suggestion from Gnauga, the rather heavyset gemcutter who crawled in out of the desert behind the first wave. It involves a rather baffling plan to secure the supply caravan's entrance in such a way that a wagon might enter but a person on foot might not.



It seems unlikely to work, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I've decided we need to expand the farms to account for our growing population.



I've noticed since piercing the magma cavern that mosses and fungi from the depths have begun to grow throughout our outpost, wherever their spores can find purchase. This is primarily limited to the sandy upper reaches, for now.

In other news, I've been dissatisfied with the design of the caravan entrance. The non-Euclidean ramps may keep land-bound critters from stumbling into our outpost, but it provides no defense against those duckling-gobbling buzzards.

So I have a cunning plan! The buzzards will likely take the shortest path to get into our wonderful home, so unless they soar in directly from the West, they'll probably stay close to the north or south walls. If we make the path a bit wider, we can line those walls with traps!



In addition, we can still put traps in front of the entrance, so long as we give the caravans a way to navigate under them.

Spoiler Dear Diary,

We finished constructing the ramps for the expanded caravan entrance just in time.

The supply caravan has arrived!



To my surprise, the caravan was accompanied by Ushrir Ustmeng, the well-known liaison to the mountainhomes.



He's probably surprised to find us out in this desert, but I'm sure we can convince him that our efforts here have not been in vain.

I've scheduled a meeting with Ushrir, and in the meantime I've asked Palamedes to figure out what dispensable goods we have that are most valuable so we can bring them up to the depot.

Once he tells me which goods are valuable, I'm going to tell him his services as a broker will no longer be needed, since it's more important that we get someone persuasive up there to the depot. We need to set our best foot forward if we really want to convince more merchants to make the dangerous trek through boglin and human territory to our desert outpost.



I think Naut will be our best choice. I considered Kadol, but she admits that she has a large deficit of willpower. I also considered Vucar the woodcutter, but told me he can't help but be candid and sincere in his dealings with others.

But Naut is friendly, confident, and rippling with muscles… clearly the best dwarf to be representing Oldboots to the world!

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I'm scheduled to meet with Ushrir today. Just have to go over the list of trade goods that Naut brought me from Palamedes and make sure everything is in order.

Yeah, everything looks goo-



Goose?



GOOSE?!



GOOOOOOOSE!

Spoiler

The page is stained with rum and tears.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

Lost my composure for a little bit there, but I'm back in control again. My strong leadership was required when a disaster struck the incoming supply caravan.



The idiots had somehow managed to get the reins of their horses tangled up in the scaffolding of a partially constructed wall, becoming hopelessly entwined with the column.

I sorted out the mess, getting the masons on the job immediately, then remembered that I was supposed to be meeting with Ushrir. The Mystery of Goose's Murder would have to wait.



He asked what I wanted and I listed out all the usual necessities, such as ducklings, giant slug meat, and kangaroo cheese.

He said they don't have any slug meat (giant or otherwise) or kangaroo cheese at the mountainhomes, and that they only deal in adult ducks and drakes.

I was of course appalled, but I asked if he perhaps had a list of the apparently limited goods that can be provided. He unfurled a lengthy scroll of tightly-space writing. Upon closer inspection, each line enumerated potential trade goods, from the mundane to the absurd (prepared honey bee brain?!). Ushrir asked that I indicate a priority next to each trade good.

Whatever.

I hope Naut has had better luck with the merchants.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

It turns out that Ushrir is a creep. He won't stop following me.

I mean, I get that I'm pretty attractive, with my concave nose bridge, my narrow ears, and my somewhat tall, somewhat broad head. But this guy is just obsessive!



It's not gonna happen, Ushrir!



After much needless and sickening conversation he was finally willing to get down to real business.



He said that what people really want back in the mountainhomes are goblets, figurines, and cut gems. Crowns and leather waterskins are pretty popular too.

It all sounds a bit fancier than I would expect, but perhaps my perceptions have been colored after roughing it out in this desert for almost a year.



So long, Ushrir! Don't let the large, serrated bronze disc hit you on the way out!

SpoilerDear Diary,



The merchants have left and I've had some time to ponder our current situation.

The fact that a drake skull totem, decorated with pond turtle shell, was among our trade goods cannot be an accident.

Someone killed Goose and decorated his adorable little skull, making sure I would see it and know of the crime. What kind of sick individual would do such a thing?

What other monstrosities would such a person commit, unchecked?

I need to investigate this more closely.

I'm going to search the fortress for clues. I won't leave one inch of floor untouched.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

Deep below the earth, Leafsword and Purple Walrus have begun to excavate useful ores such as hematite and copper.



This is great, but I really wish they'd finish excavating the areas for the magma furnaces. We'll be able to use all those ores much more efficiently once we can harness the power of magma!



Could they be sabotaging my plans?

Somebody here killed my darling duckling Goose. Who can I really trust?

I find that I'm spending my evenings perusing the profiles of our citizens, trying to map relationships and motives. Who could the murderer be?

SpoilerFinally, Leafsword has started tunneling out the magmaduct!



Dizzy's going to create an obsidian grate for us to keep out the nasties. Only pure, unadulterated magma can enter our forges!

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

Those nincompoops really made a mess of things down in the magmaduct, but progress continues slowly. An obsidian drawbridge has been built to withstand the heat of the magma, but it hasn't been hooked up to a lever yet.



The grate has been built to keep out the magmaphiles, but it won't do any good if the beasts can swim around it, so we'll have to build some flanking walls. We also need yet to build a wall between the grate and the bridge and carve a fortification into it for the magma to flow through… that'll reduce the stress on our grates if any particularly troublesome creature decides to invite itself in.

But the masons keep messing getting confused and trying to build walls under their own feet, or else they wall themselves off and need to be rescued!

The amount of supervision they require is ridiculous… it's definitely making it difficult to continue my detective work on the Goose homicide case… or… anatidacide?

Anyway, I need to find someone else to supervise the outpost so that I can devote my full attention to the case. It shouldn't be a hard job… Oldboots practically runs itself, aside from the masonry!

I left a note in Schazer's room asking if she's up for the job.

SpoilerThe desert heat, or typical outpost lunacy underground. I can't tell which one's driving me crazier faster, or for that matter which I'd prefer. At least the raven folk don't go on and on and Rakust-beseechingly on about ducklings.

No, seriously. We've exchanged a few words - well, caws and screeches, sure, but we were definitely communicating - while I was out hunting some cockatiels recently. They might've just been telling me in Raven to move along so they could get at the entrails, but I'm honestly at the juncture where I'm looking to freaks of nature for sane conversation.

I'm not even going to discuss that incident with the tortoise, as much as Leader Thriggle kept passive-aggressively rubbing in my failure by asking me to chronicle it. "It'll help you come to terms with what happened." Hah! Tripps tried on a few pond-fishing trips to ask me the details, but I threatened to make her drink turtle-water if she kept that nonsense up.

I swear to Shosel, Palamedes is losing it faster than I am. Damn shame, but probably should be more of a concern considering he's our only doctor. First he's thinking he's better at training war dogs than me, though I saw him skulking round the carpenter's workshop muttering about crossbows. The fool damn near lost his hand in a cage door trying to figure out how it worked. Not to mention, he still questions me in the corridors with this look in his eye, asking how that tortoise is doing. I don't care if he's glad that it's still dodging traps. He's up to something, although how his morning strolls of crushing local flora underfoot is helping are beyond me.

Oh, some new pups as well I suppose. What use Thriggle thinks they'll be cooking in the desert sun is anyone's guess, but the hypothetical half-baked corpses can be left on his desk, not mine. Mainly because I don't even have a desk, nor do I especially want one.


The stolid female is Doris, the glaringly obvious runt Dragon in the futile hopes he'll grow into something halfway respectable. On the bright side, you can really see the models of inheritance coming through these pups! Not that anyone in this cultural cesspit would know about anything like that.

Been plagued with vermin, and I don't mean the damn flies that congregate whither the duck shit graces the floors (which is all over the damn fortress). Immigrants. I don't sign up for a trip to the godsforsaken middle of crapwhere just to make it nice and cosy for some city-slickers to turn up. Worse, one old upstart won't shut up about his "eighty-one kills", which were probably mass drownings from a mispulled floodgate if my experience tells me anything. That his wife's the fortress' broker is only further conceit to go to his already-insufferable ego. I hope the raven-men get the hint and rough him up for me.

Of course, being the tactful dwarf I am I'm not actually telling anyone any of this to their collectively degenerate faces. I've no interest in running this asylum and am driven by instinct to mistrust anyone with such aspirations (see: Naut). I'm quite content bringing in the fortress' rations of raw monster flesh, or farming. Or arguing with Palamedes. Being put in charge of the fort would give me no time for these pursuits, which I feel are too important a contribution to fortress life to put aside.

Why am I mentioning this, hypothetical history-loving dwarf of the future reading my missives?

No reason.

No reason whatsoever.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

To my surprise, Schazer was entirely uninterested in taking on the responsibility of overseeing Oldboots! I suppose an outdoorsy type like that values time hunting, fishing, and farming over holding meetings. planning architectural changes, and dealing with creepy liaisons from the mountainhomes.

But you know who seems perfect for dealing with creepers from the mountainhomes? Doctor Palamedes! I bet he can just use his impeccable bedside manner and deliver a healthy dose of common sense to any problem life sends his way. Or something.

I left a note in his room asking if he'd be willing to take on responsibility of overseeing the fortress while I abdicate from the position to pursue more pressing duties. If he's not up for it, I don't know who I can turn to. Good ol' Tripps, perhaps?

SpoilerThe fortress as of Spring 252 can be found here: https://skydrive.live.com/redir?resid=5450526BD1567694!1145

SpoilerLeader thriggle’s horrid little ducklings have finally hatched. Horrible little things, and they never stop quacking. Goose is my least favourite, he is the loudest. I told leader thriggle that he is not a goose, he is a duck. A duck! Leader thriggle insists he is Goose though. It is truly maddening.

To make things worse, leader thriggle has put me in charge of watching the ducklings. This will not stand, I

*The rest of the page is wet and torn apart.*

SpoilerI have done the deed. Goose is dead. He was proving a most terrible creature, even for a duckling. He even attacked me and tore at my journal! He will plague me no longer, and I think the rest of the ducklings have realized now that I am in charge. Unfortunately, Goose’s bones are extremely brittle so I have been unable to make a working crossbow out of them. No matter, I have cleaned up the mess and disposed of the evidence. The perfect crime.

SpoilerLeader thriggle has found Goose’s skull. I had stopped writing in my journal for fear of my actions being discovered, but thankfully leader thriggle quickly decided that a random buzzard was responsible for the crime. I told leader thriggle that if I had a crossbow I could better protect all of the ducklings from other threats.

Leader thriggle seems to have grown closer to me as well, professing me a good friend in this difficult and sad time. I tell myself that I should not feel guilty, that everything seems to be working out for me. My involvement in the murder will go undiscovered.

SpoilerI have lied journal. I was not defending myself, Goose didn’t attack me. I tore half of your page out of rage at his quacking and killed him for it. I swore an oath journal, when I became a doctor. A Dwarfocratic oath. To never kill anything, unless it attacks me first, or I am told to, or I had to, or they deserve it, or they are an elf. Goose wasn’t killed for any of those reasons.

There is innocent blood on my hands, innocent duck blood. I hear his quacks in my dreams now, they wake me up early almost every day and I never want to go back to sleep. I cannot undo the deed.

I am no doctor. I am no dwarf.

SpoilerThe blood will not wash off.

SpoilerNew dwarves have arrived. With Schazer busy with the tortoise hunt and leader thriggle making me feel nothing but guilt, maybe they will help me take my mind off of Goose. There is one named ‘Some Donkus’, according to the others, who seems to be calling herself their leader as well as ‘Future Overlord Ashenirons’. Normally it would be good to see someone who does not hide their plans to overthrow leader thriggle but now I feel only regret at the thought of it. Another dwarf, Dizzy, also has a good taste in drink and we had a long discussion about it. The third, Slorange, seems entirely unremarkable as of yet.

Leafsword is now screaming about being outnumbered or something, but when I approached him to see what was wrong he just pointed at me and said I do not count. Does he know of my sin?

SpoilerAt the very least the tortoise is still outsmarting Schazer and leader thriggle. I feel like I should be sympathizing with them but I still can’t support murdering an idol of my god just to eat it. Maybe I could be convinced if they’d give me some better reason.

I am now to help Purple Walrus finish the water tunnel. I don’t know why leader thriggle thinks I can do it as I have no experience, but I suppose I owe her. I owe Goose.

SpoilerTriumph. Despite almost no knowledge in the field I have managed to work with my colleague to get that tunnel working. We now have some sort of sewage system! It’s kind of gross having all of this water around, kind of like living outside like some sort of elf colony.

Now I am off to appraise what goods we have to sell, again under leader thriggle's orders, since a caravan has arrived. Apparently I am only good for looking things over though, I don't have the charisma needed apparently to deal with other dwarves. I'll show her charisma. Somehow.

SpoilerI got too cocky. Shortly after killing Goose and getting the buzzard blamed for the crime, I gaudily decorated it, much like some sort of elf decoration. I should have destroyed it or hid it, but in my guilt I kept it as a testament to my crime. Now it has gotten mixed into the trade goods, and leader thriggle has seen it and has been reminded of the crime and is searching for a new culprit. I hope that our guilt-caused friendship leads her away from suspecting me, but I can no longer afford to be reckless.

Leader thriggle has asked me to take over some management work, since Schazer is unwilling to. I don’t think I can accept it, too much responsibility, and I need to work on covering my tracks.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I never thought foisting responsibility would be so difficult, but it seems there is an art to foisting. My Auntie Omoth spent decades honing her foisting ability; she'd almost perfected it by the time she was executed by the Queen's hammerer--they say Omoth convinced the hammerer to get her a glass of water and do her laundry before he smashed in Omoth's skull.

In sad contrast to that legendary figure, I have let my responsibility-foisting muscles atrophy from disuse, and I find my attempts to cede the Overseership shrugged off with a nonchalance that borders on insult. First Schazer decides she would rather stalk the desert with her imaginary badgers and ravenfolk, then when I try to recruit Palamedes the doctor complains that he gets little enough sleep as it is and cannot handle the additional responsibilities. And everyone keeps bugging me about the flies.

Yes, I know there are flies! At least they aren't brown recluse spiders!

Maybe you shiftless duckling murderers should spend less time complaining about the flies attracted to your reek and more time appreciating the feat of dwarven engineering that hath quenched the desert sands, bringing water from the stone? YES I MEAN TAKE A BATH.

...Pretty sure we have some soap around here somewhere...

Just checked the stockpile records and I guess we don't. Where was I?

Oh yes, foisting!

I am determined. As bookkeeper I have certain resources at my disposal, and I shall find a way to use them to free myself of the Overseer's burden.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

I found a pretense to visit my friend Tripps Balancepaper (the woodworker) in her quarters today, bearing with me several scrolls and a folio of tablets.

After a smattering of small talk, I explained to her that my duties as overseer were consuming entirely too much of my time, and that I unless I could find a willing replacement, I would need someone else to assist with the bookkeeping. Namely, I would need Tripps.

I told Tripps that bookkeeping is a challenging duty, not to be taken lightly, and one that I find deeply rewarding. Any good bookkeeper should be delighted at the work it requires. I told her that I had already evaluated most of the outpost stockpiles for the day, and that I expected her to crosscheck my numbers with her own enumerations on a daily basis until I am satisfied with her ability to perform the tasks requisite to the job.

And so I began to read the record.

First, the citizens of Oldboots:

17 worthy dwarves, all toiling for the glory of our people.

And the positions of nobility and social duty must be recorded for posterity as well:


Then we must count the creatures that depend on us for their protection and sustenance:


"Wait," Tripps asked, interrupting my enumeration, "who named that duckling Whip Dustwhip?

"That's not her real name..." I confessed. "You didn't hear it from me, but that mild-mannered Bomrek Veshbomrek is none other than Darkwing Duckling! Defender of truth and justice! She is the terror that flaps in the night! With her signature catchphrase of LET'S GET DANGEROUS she descends upon evil-doers like a--!"

But Tripps showed uncharacteristic interest in moving on to the next tablet at that point.

Besides the living things, we must remember all that have fallen in our territory. Their souls are with Rakust now.



"We have to keep track of which animals die outside?" Tripps asked. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Not even the smallest soul shall be forgotten from the record!" I wiped a tear from my eye.

"Well," I amended, "I mean, we don't have to count dead vermin and honeybees. But more on that in a moment."

All clothing and armor must be tracked and accounted for, to the last silken sock!


Tripps squinted at some notes scratched at the bottom of the tablet. "What kind of freak wears a crown made from giant eagle nail?"

"That would by that new ranger, Pick Your Poison. All that grotesque jewelry is his. He claims the crown is made from giant eagle nail and I guess I can't say otherwise."

I shoved some tablets and maps aside and pulled out my last weapon, a heavy scroll. I let the bottom half roll down onto and across Tripps' floor, leaving a trail of vellum in its wake.

"Now Tripps, pay attention!" I began to read the list.

"Bars, twenty-nine. Item, bars of iron, five in number. Item, bars of silver, five in number. Item, bars of lead, sixteen in number..."

"...Small live animals, none available for general use, twelve-thousand seven-hundred fifty-seven forbidden."

"WHAT."

"...Item, live honey bees, twelve-thousand seven-hundred fifty-seven in number."

"TWELVE THOUSAND LIVE HONEY BEES."

"Don't joke, Tripps, we must be precise! Twelve-thousand seven-hundred fifty-seven live honey bees. I don't count the corpses because I think those little devils hide the bodies from me."

"We really have to count the honey bees?"

"Every day! Don't worry, I already counted them today. But what I need you to do now is count the handful of item I missed. All the blocks, hatch covers, querns, boxes, bags, bins, barrels, buckets, mechanisms, trap components, tools, totems, corpses, body parts--"

My friend made an expression of utter distaste and I almost faltered in my resolve. But I was so close...

"Maybe just start by counting the tables and chairs we have in stock, Tripps. While you do so, perhaps you will consider that as an alternative to your assuming the duties of a bookkeeper, our problem would be resolved if someone as capable as yourself were willing to assume the responsibilities of Overseer. After all... I already have a system for counting the honey bees."

I left several copies of our recent records in Tripps' quarters, as well as some detailed maps of our outpost.

It is my hope that she sees all that we have at our disposal, all the work that we have accomplished, and decides ruling this group of exemplary individuals, in this unlikely land of blessed wealth, wouldn't be so bad after all.

She needn't know about my search for the duckling murderer. That criminal will answer to me alone. Once these tiresome Overseer duties are off my plate, the investigation shall make greater headway, I'm sure of it!

Spoiler
Dear diary,

I think someone's been sitting in my thinking chair. This is outrageous!

I've chained the duckling Lord Quackington up in my office as a guard. I shall listen for his distinctive quacks when I'm not there.

Spoiler
Dear Diary,

Tripps has happily assumed the duties of overseer, and I can go about my investigations with more devotion than ever before.

It is, however, a daunting challenge... not only was the evidence of the crime relatively scarce to begin with, but we traded it to the mountainhomes for various sundries and necessities. I only hope that wherever Goose's decorated skull ends up, it brings comfort and joy to all who look upon it.

What do people use skull totems for, anyway? Ashtrays?

SpoilerDear Diary,

Perhaps I won't get as much free time as I'd thought with my abdication. Tripps has declared that we need to raise a militia to defend ourselves against unseen enemies.

Personally, I think Leafsword has done an admirable job keeping the goober hordes at bay. I haven't seen a single one! Surely they're intimidated by his rippling muscles. ...That or the goobers don't even exist.

On top of raising a militia, Tripps has given Masterblade freedom from hauling duties, in what I assume is morale-raising technique. Which means more work for the rest of us, and potentially a hindrance to my murder investigation. On the other hand, hauling rocks gives me a chance to converse as a peer with our citizens, and perhaps with some carefully worded questions and comments I can probe the motives of my fellow dwarves, and see if any of them harbor any ill will toward ducks and ducklings.

It's hard to imagine how anyone could! The peeps and quacks of the little darlings echo soothingly throughout the sleeping quarters, and their parents roost pleasantly in our communal dining hall, sending up delightful gusts of feathers and dander as they nest and preen. I can think of nothing more that I would want near my table as I dine!

But some warped individual among us does not appreciate the ducks.

I must be vigilant.

Spoiler

Thriggle has been sleeping off the burden of leadership.



Leafsword trapped himself in the magma intake pipe while setting up a grate, and had to be helped out. Well, he claims that the grate was put up against his will by "a dwarf with a face like a shadow." Whatever.

Spoiler

Big news! I met our neighbors, and they are wretched. These dunes have kobolds, and thanks to my keen eyes we caught this one before it could lift anything. Operation get-an-army is still in it's infancy, but the emergency drills I've been running worked like a charm.



Pick Yer Poison provided excellent ranged support while I "apprehended the criminal." First, I...



So that was an exciting day. Maybe I'll get a cool scar out of it.

Now where is that gosh-darn doctor?



I guess I did tell him to prioritize improving our arsenal over his other duties...

SpoilerStill in bed. Schazer's dead. May peace yet bless this weary head.
Our hope is worn. We are forlorn. But I'll yet pull this kobold thorn.

It was early in the morning when we heard the dogs barking upstairs. Of course, after yesterday we knew what was behind it.



But when we rushed to the entrance we were expecting to find a thoroughly dead kobold, not two bleeding war dogs and a missing intruder.



Baffled as to how this kobold could have accomplished such a feat, and with most of our decent warriors elsewhere/injured, everyone else rushed to avenge them, with Schazer at the forefront of course.

The reason, we would find out soon enough. This one had an accomplice. They blindsided Schazer as she rounded the corner, without giving her the chance to load her crossbow. One killer was mobbed immediately, but his partner escaped in the confusion.



I've never heard of such competence out of kobolds. If only I could have been there. Or any other portion of the actual militia for that matter.

Burial arrangements will be made as soon as everyone can be called back to the fortress. We will all have to apologize to Leafsword for our skepticism as well.

SpoilerSchazer, I'm deeply sorry about this. Do you have any preferences for your tomb? The magma isn't flowing yet, so being buried in/under the heart of the forge is still an option.