Autumn 1055, in which the dead haunt the living.
Autumn colors at Alegate.
Thornbeard, Scout – I was in the temple with sweet Stathra, gazing upon the unicorn horn and feeling the grace of Zefon Yearlingfountains, when the ghosts arrived.
The murmur of prayers stopped all through the great temple, and there was silence as dwarves beheld the apparitions. Then, suddenly, the haunts wailed. It was a terrible screeching sound that echoed from the ceiling. All of us who heard the awful lament felt our hearts grow cold. The mens’ beards stood straight out from their chins.
The ghosts then drifted into the east wall of the temple and disappeared. May Zefon Yearlingfountains protect us.
Argus, Broker – I was sitting on the lead stairs, whittling a weird bone. It may have been a hungry head scapula. Or maybe a reacher pelvis. Not sure. There are a lot of weird bones coming out of the butcher shop since the deep cavern exploration.
Anyway, I was sitting there, and dwarves were moving up and down the lead stairs, going about fortress business. Then they all stopped and gasped. I looked up.
Two glowing dwarves — one with an axe, and one with a saw — were standing right next to me. I could see through parts of them, and other parts I could not see at all. The one with the saw made an echoey sound like a far-away sob. Then they moved into a wall and disappeared.
It was very quiet on the lead stair for a moment. “Huh. That was weird,” I said, and got back to whittling.
Fark, Chief Medical Dwarf – I had a talk with the ghosts.
Don’t get me wrong! I find them just as terrifying as any sane dwarf would. But when I saw them, I thought they were just regular dwarves. I had been washing my face at the well, you see, and had soap in my eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted. I admit I was miffed that I never see anyone at the nice washing station by the well. I set it up very nicely, and even made little labels for the different kinds of of tallow soap.
Soap inventory at the time.
When they wailed back at me in their ghostly voices, that’s when I realized I was speaking to the dead. They told me why they haunted Alegate.
Talking to ghosts is new to me. I may have stopped breathing for a while there. Eventually I told them I would take their concerns to the Duke. Okay, “told” might not be the right word. “Blurted”, maybe. “Screeched,” perhaps.
Maltose, Duke – There has been a terrible oversight. When an Alegater is killed, we set a lead sarcophagus in the catacombs for the fallen. A year ago, when the fiery forgotten beast killed the woodcutter and carpenter, we assigned sarcophaguses for them.
But these two were never properly interred. Not only were the bodies reduced to ash, but, when the forgotten beast exploded, that ash was then scattered into the deep cavern. We had nothing to bury.
Now these apparitions haunt their one-time home, seeking out those they knew in life. We of Alegate are deeply touched by this injustice. As the ghosts wander our halls, many who see them are distracted from whatever vital fortress work they are doing.
For the sake of our fallen citizens, and for the safety of this fortress, these ghosts must be satisfied. We shall carve monuments that can take the place of our comrades’ bodies in the catacombs.
Thornbeard, Scout – that great pack of dogs — the puppies and grand-puppies of my own hunting dogs — are now fully grown. Training them all as war dogs was a lot of work. Now every soldier of Alegate has been assigned a war dog companion.
Thornbeard, Scout – There are monsters coming from the southern woods! Click here for battle report.
Maltose, Duke – The gods have granted us a victory with no loss of Alegate lives. Some citizens have availed themselves of this new delivery of foreign clothes, and a few soldiers kept exotic weapons from the south. Still the field and south tunnel are littered with great heaps of clothing and equipment. Among the bodies, there are also personal effects such as books, instruments, and foul little totems made of people.
The smelteries need no more copper scrap, as our mountain is rich in ores of that metal. However, iron ores are rare here, so the enemy’s iron was welcomed. It will be melted and made into steel.
Fark, Chief Medical Dwarf – There is a pile of captured books in the library. They smell like blood.
If I were a centuries-old goblin — don’t look at me like that; I’m not fantasizing here, just speaking hypothetically — and I spent those centuries traveling and writing about what I saw, the smart play would be to find a patron to pay me for writing the books. Or just sell the books to whatever monster-haunted frontier-fort would buy them. I know this monster-haunted frontier-fort pays generously for something to read.
Instead, these writers let themselves get sucked into an attack on a frontier-fort where the local soldiers’ idea of light exercise is hunting nightmarish monsters in the belly of the mountain.
Sure, some of these writers had murdered someone in a tavern along the way. And I can tell from the mean-sprited writing in some of these books that these were not nice people. But why they decided attacking Alegate was their best next career move is beyond me.
Maltose, Duke – I’ve been browsing some of the captured books. I have mixed feelings about them. It is uncomfortable to learn of the dreams these people had before they came here to try to kill us. But we must learn about what they saw, and how they think.
A captured book. This one had been written and carried by one of the dwarves that accompanied the invaders.
Argus, Broker – The caravan and Queen’s representative arrived from the mountainhome. Just in time to relieve us of these piles of goblinite cluttering the south tunnel. We bought all the books and musical instruments the caravan carried.
Maltose, Duke – there is word of war from the Mountainhome. In midsummer, a large force of the skinless gecko’s servants attacked Slappedcrystal.
Slappedcrystal is the eastmost of our nation’s fortresses, whereas Alegate is the westmost. Slappedcrystal stands over the trade road we share with the Vigorous Confederacy. It is a great fortress, built at a time when many soaring bridges were being constructed over rivers in the area. Now its vast halls are sparsely populated, and there are less than a hundred residents — a mix of dwarves, goblins, humans and elves.
Those residents shed blood to keep the invaders out of the ancient fort, and have managed to hold against the siege for several months. The siege continues.
Slappedcrystal. Key: Ω: dwarf settlement (white is larger.) µ, ruins. I: necromancer tower. *, = and ≡: human settlement. 0: human tomb. ^: volcano.
Thornbeard, Scout – a giant cave swallow, as big as our grizzly bear, got into the fortress somehow. A pack of six war dogs found it in the main stairwell, below the living levels. They trapped it, but were not able to bring it down. A squad of heavy infantry came up from the deep caverns and finished it off.
If only we had been able to take it alive. Imagine what we could hunt, using giant cave swallows like hunting falcons.
Fark, Chief Medical Dwarf – we have a lava moat. It’s more of a trench than a moat right now, but it will be expanded as they bring more magma up.
We also have a new catapult in the barbican. A cellar has been dug beneath the barbican to hold the ammunition.
Maltose, Duke – The final tower, at the southernmost tip of Alegate, is complete. From it, archers can see the great waterfall, down into the chasm, and across the treetops to the east, west and south. It is a grand view.
Thornbeard, Scout – crundles are nasty little imps. One of them got past our deep cavern soldiers and that crazy crundle-hunting cat, and found itself in a cage trap. Our zookeeper has it trained to do tricks. It grew up wild, and will never be fully tame, so she keeps it in the cage. She said if we catch more and set up a breeding program, its offspring could be domesticated. She also said they lay eggs faster than chickens. Interesting idea.
Fark, Chief Medical Dwarf – Thornbeard told me about the Zookeeper’s crundle breeding ideas. No. I am not eating the eggs of something can wink and leer at me while pushing my breakfast out of its cloaca. We are not having crundle omelettes. Chickens will do, thanks.
Maltose, Duke – Engraved slabs have been placed in the tombs for the dwarves killed by the forgotten beast. The ghostly haunts have not been seen since. May they rest peacefully in the heart of the mountain.
