Spring and Summer of 1053, in which we learn of The Thing in the Hospital, and other adventures.
Spring: Elven Caravan
Ecroh the goblin bard pressed his back against the clay wall and avoided eye contact with the passing beasts. The first was a grizzly bear, more than three times the mass of a dwarf or goblin. The second was a tiger, even bigger than the grizzly. The zookeeper-dwarf was leading the domesticated predators deeper into the fortress.
The dwarven mayor followed close behind, his negotiations with the elves complete. The mayor’s eyes gleamed gleefully at the fort’s latest acquisitions.
Behind the mayor, a team of dwarves was hauling less dangerous goods away from the trade depot. They had bags of exotic fruit, bundles of rough burlap clothes and pairs of wooden clogs.
Ecroh sidled past them to the elven merchants. The elves were strapping large glazed pots of brew to their yaks. Ecroh asked one, “How are the roads?”
“War back home,” one of the elves responded. “The Vigorous Confederacy has sent a large army into the Eagle of Spring, and there have been many smaller attacks. The necromancer cult has sent forces out of their tower, to raid elven cities in the west.”
Ecroh was stunned. He had grown up in the human empire known as the Vigorous Confederacy. “Why would the Confederacy attack the Eagle?”
“Some human nonsense. You know how weird their ‘morals’ are,” the elf said with air quotes. “I don’t follow politics. I just know that means I won’t be trading in the Vigorous Confederacy until this blows over. The people back home won’t be seeing any new shark leather on my wagons for a while.”
“We saw two of your soldiers chase down a kobold in the north,” another elf remarked.
Ecroh nodded, “Yes! Those kobolds have been trying to steal our supplies since we arrived. Our scouts have been out hunting them. It got so that they recognize the kobolds and know their names. Marksdwarf Zas took that one down.
The elf rejoined, “All good. You’ll need some vinegar for that. Kobold is tough. We have a jug for sale…”
It took Ecroh a moment to realize the elf wasn’t joking. Ecroh squeaked out, “No, thanks. I’m good.” Ecroh had a guess what the elves’ neighbors were upset about.
The Great Temple
The temple in Alegate was a grand place. The walls and floor were polished to bring out the yellows, whites and blues of the mountain’s stone. The surfaces were so smooth they mirrored the oil lamps, worshippers and red statues. The depth of the reflection made it look like the worshippers were floating in air. The low sibilance of many prayers muttered at once echoed here.
Ecroh stepped back from his own prayers to the human god of chaos and nature, and noticed a miner gazing at the temple’s sole gold statue — the statue of the dwarf goddess of children, holding a unicorn horn.
“So this is what they wanted the gold fer,” said the miner.
Ecroh loved explaining things. “Yes — the forge boss assigned his most talented blacksmith to craft this. Same smith as made the gold statue for the temple of the fortress goddess, up by the entrance.”
The miner held up a dusty finger, “About that — ain’t the forge goddess supposed to be a dwarf? And why’s she screaming?”
Ecroh replied, “The smith was asked to make a fine gold statue for the temple, and he decided that goddess was known for cursing profaners, so he figured the statue should show one of the victims.”
The miner squinted, “They gonna make him make another, proper, goddess statue then?”
Ecroh looked at the master blacksmith, who was praying a short distance away. “Oh, they told him to about a month ago, but he follows one of those human religions, with a long list of gods and monsters. He’s so busy trying to catch up on praying to each of them that he spends most of his time here. Same with a lot of the workers in here.”
The miner scowled at the crowd of worshippers. The fortress held nearly 200 citizens and mercenaries now. Enough that the mountainhome had stopped sending migrants to Alegate. Even if one in ten people were at the temple, it was a crowd. “We could use less prayin’ an’ more workin’ ’round here, what with the armor shortage.”
Ecroh replied, “The temple is new. Maybe this is just temporary. Why is there a metal shortage, by the way? I see lots of ore in the stockpile.”
The miner nodded, “problem is fuel. This mountain has lots of metal ore but no bituminous coal or lignite. So we have to make all fuel from charcoal, and that takes about 7 times more work than coking stone. That’s a real problem with a fort this size. We need fuel to smelt, fuel to forge, fuel to bake pots for the booze we sell, an’ probably other things I’m forgettin’. They’re tryin’ to get more wood furnaces built, but that takes time.”
The miner continued, “we’ve dug deep enough to uncover three cavern complexes so far, and still no coal. We even tried knocking peep holes in the caverns to check in there, but all we see is…well, it’s ugly in there.” The miner saw the eager look on Ecroh’s face, and knew he’d have to tell more. “There was a tribe of troglodytes, until…well, they disappeared. That giant cave swallow might have got ’em. Someone saw a giant olm eating up the pond grabbers. And something painted the walls with a pack of crundles.
Summer: Human Caravan
The Vigorous Confederacy had the wealth and breadth of two nations. Their caravans carry a wide range of things from the human capital, some of which are far more expensive than practical, such as diamond-studded quivers made of manta ray hide, and greatswords made of silver and decorated with carved bear bone.
Ecroh knew the mayor planned to buy books for the new library, and whatever exotic foods the caravan brought. But mostly the mayor would be looking for the military supplies Captain Meng had requested after the attack; backpacks, quivers, and as many of the large, human weapons as the big human mercs could wield — pikes, halberds, and the like.
This year’s merchants were pale and frightened when they came down the ramp from the surface.
“Their cobbles are black. Was that blood?” one whispered.
“I think I saw someone’s arm on the ground,” rasped a third.
“What happened up there?” one asked Ecroh.
Ecroh still felt stunned after the last month’s events, but the opportunity to take the familiar role of storyteller brought him to his senses. “Wearbison. No one saw it coming until it was at the north wall. No one was working north of the fort, and the watch towers are still being worked on. It got into the surface courtyard before we could shut the gate, and it attacked the livestock.
“Those are mostly people’s pets up there, not working animals, so when it started throwing alpacas and kicking puppies, the soldiers wanted to rush straight in, but captain Meng made them gather inside, instead of running out there in ones and twos.
“The double-bell signal had already gone up, so everyone working on the surface was running down the ramp and deeper into the fortress. Except there was this group of fisherdwarves east of the fort. When they got inside the walls, they were trying to get through the fleeing animals, and had to go right past the monster.
“One of the archer captains was in the courtyard at that point, and stood between the monster and the fisherdwarves. When Captain Meng heard the archer engage, he ordered the charge. Only ten of his soldiers had gathered so far, but up the ramp they went.
“As for that archer…” Ecroh was interrupted by a monstrous bellowing from deeper in the fortress. The call made the walls shake and reverberated in Ecroh’s lungs.
“What was that?” a human merchant asked, fumbling to pull a long sword off the cart.
Ecroh looked down the hallway toward the sound, where a team of dwarves had sealed a doorway with stone blocks, and was reinforcing the barricade with iron braces.
“That would be the hospital.”
Captain Meng Remembers The Attack
Captain Meng charged up the ramp to the surface, a hammerdwarf ahead of him and nine more of his soldiers behind him. When he got to the top, he was immediately hit with the disorientation of being under an open sky after weeks underground.
It was chaos up there. Some fisherdwarves fled past him down the ramp. There were bloody animals running around, the bellowing werebison standing in the moonlight, and one of the archer captains lying in three pieces on the ground.
The hammerdwarf charged the bison and interrupted its bellow by smashing it in the arm with her hammer. The bison kicked her in the gut with one great hoof, and the organ-crushing pressure in her torso was so great that she fell dead. She had not been wearing a breast plate or mail coat — they did not have enough armor for everyone, so all the soldiers were out there with patchy armor.
Commander Meng was next. He stepped between the soldiers’ corpses, shield up and axe ready. He smoothly feinted once, ducked the counterattack, then hamstringed the leg that had just killed his hammerdwarf. The crippled monster fell to the ground. Meng made more cuts, opening veins and severing sinews when he could, or blocking with his shield or leaping out of reach when he must.
The other 9 soldiers gathered around and laid into the prone monster. Most of the soldiers had fine steel axes, hammers, and swords from the fortress forges. Some had brought their own weapons to the fort — a silver “whip”, a steel morningstar, and an ornate iron mace decorated with carved bone.
Despite the beating, the werebison managed to clamp its jaws on a marksdwarf’s unarmored foot, and then thrash the marksdwarf around by that limb. Bones snapped, joints were ruined, and flesh was shredded. The other soldiers kept up the beating, and the beast lost its grip. The beast, unable to rise, crawled after the crippled soldier, and managed to land two more crushing bites on her unarmored torso before she got clear of the fight. The marksdwarf was alive for the moment, but she was gasping to fill her damaged lungs with air.
The beast’s muscles were so great that it was difficult to crush bone or organ with blunt weapons. The beast’s madness was so hot that pain did not slow it. And the beast was so robust that it kept going despite many gushing wounds.
Next the macedwarf with the ornate mace got too close. The beast caught him in the stomach with a bite, but he pulled away before the skin was torn. Then the beast bit his foot, but the teeth slid off the macedwarf’s iron boot.
The macedwarf, standing right over the monster, swung his ornate mace one last time. The mace broke the beast’s femur. But then the beast latched its jaws around the macedwarf’s right upper arm and, with a jerk, tore off the dwarf’s arm.
The macedwarf seemed not to understand what had happened. He moved as if to smash the werebison with his mace again, then looked confused that the blow (using his now missing right arm) did not connect. After that, the macedwarf stumbled back.
Still Captain Meng delivered his surgical strikes, and evaded many attacks from the beast. The other soldiers beat the monster as well, but Meng’s skillful cuts were the deepest. One had even cracked the thing’s skull.
Despite the broken head, the werebison was not done dealing death. It got its jaws around another marksdwarf’s neck, and closed them, decapitating the dwarf in an instant. So ended Marksdwarf Zas, kobold slayer.
Finally, with a mighty swing, Captain Meng buried his battle axe in the prone werebison’s chest, ending its cursed life.
The Thing In The Hospital
After the battle…
Ecroh visited the hospital. He found Fark’s two medical assistants drawing water from the well and washing tools. There was only one patient in the hospital, and she was on the operating table. Fark was sewing something back together in the soldier’s foot. The soldier was unconscious.
Ecroh addressed one of the nurses. “Wow, you got that guy’s shoulder sewn up quickly.”
The dwarven nurse looked startled, and spoke suspiciously. She always reacted that way to the goblin. “We didn’t sew up any shoulders.”
Ecroh blinked. “That macedwarf — he got his arm ripped off. I just saw him in the gym learning how to fight with his weapon in his left hand.”
The nurse made a sour face. “Well, we didn’t sew him up.”
Three weeks later…
Ecroh happened by the hospital, and there was a team of masons starting to brick up the entrances to the hospital. Fark and the nurses were watching the masons work. Inside the hospital, he saw the wounded marksdwarf. She was lying on a bed, her leg splinted from hip to ankle, and massive bandages on her knee and foot. Her breath was raspy, and there were ugly bruises extending up her neck. The marksdwarf was staring at the ceiling.
Ecroh approached the nurse again, and asked, “What’s going on?”
The nurse looked over at Ecroh, jumped when she saw who it was, and scowled at him. Ecroh responded with a warm smile, hoping his natural charm would eventually overcome her prejudice about his race. Or maybe he smiled because he thought it was funny how frightening she found him. He was not sure which. Maybe he smiled for both reasons.
Icily, she responded, “She was bit. The doctor thinks she may turn.”
“Wow,” Ecroh responded. “That must be rough on her. She has a son in the military here, too. I hope he’s doing okay.”
The nurse answered guardedly, “Huh. Didn’t know that.”
Ecroh gestured toward the barracks. “What about that one-armed macedwarf? I hear his arm was ripped off with a bite.”
The nurse looked uneasy. “Commander Meng is in charge of that one. Said the merc will be training with the rest of the troops when the moon rises. Said either he’s not infected and things will be fine, or he is infected and Meng will take care of it.”
After the next full moon…
Ecroh peeked through a peep hole in the wall that filled what used to be the hospital door. The marksdwarf was pacing. She was in perfect condition. Not even a bruise showed on her skin. The splint and bandages had been shredded, then thrown on a pile of broken furniture.
The nurse started the conversation this time, “Doc says that’s her room now. We’re digging a new hospital down in the stone delvings.”
“I talked to Commander Meng,” Ecroh replied. The macedwarf wasn’t infected.”
The nurse remarked, “Doc says she’s immortal now. Every month, all her hurts will heal. All her hunger, all her thirst. Says she won’t be getting thirsty for booze, but she’s still a dwarf, so as the months go by, her body will miss it. Imagine.”
Ecroh looked at the nurse. She looked pale. It was the first time he had seen her speak empathetically. And it was about alcohol deprivation. How dwarfy.
A silence stretched out. Echroh broke it. “Meng has completely reorganized the military. Moved all the goblins and humans into a special unit for ‘surface operations’. Had everyone turn in their armor, and says he’ll armor one unit at a time until it’s fully equipped. And now the forges are saving up the steel, and hammering out copper armor as fast as fuel allows.”
The nurse nodded, “I heard the werebeasts always come from the northeast, same as the caravans. So Meng had a yak chained up north, outside the gates, so that we’ll hear the next werebeast coming.”
Silence stretched out again. Ecroh devised a cunning experiment. “Hey, remember that crisp springbeer the brewers made for Commander Meng and his family after the accident at the pond?”
The nurse’s eyes lit up, “Do I? Such craftsdwarfship…”
Ecroh remarked, “They have a new one — a sorghum stout, in honor of the axedwarf who defeated the werechameleon. They’re serving it in the Drowned Langur now, if you’re interested.”
“Right now?!” the nurse exclaimed. “I’m done here.” She hurried down the hall, excited.
Ecroh was amused at her reaction. She would probably remember to hate him for his green skin later. But for now, she seemed to forget her prejudice.
Game Master Notes
Some details that did not make it into the narrative, or are best communicated out-of-character:
- The cooks, instead of making enormous roasts, now cook much smaller dishes. The net food output is the same, but this takes more work and will increase their skill faster.
- There is a bug in Dwarf Fortress which causes dwarves to only appreciate well-cooked meals if they happen to contain the dwarf’s favorite ingredient. So we’ll need to find other ways to keep the dwarves happy, or arrange to have the favorite ingredients available. Some individuals’ favorite ingredients may be unobtainable.
- The surface farms are complete. We have a much larger capacity for production of varied surface plants. We produce enough booze now that we can get a lot from merchants, including meats, fruits, and cheeses, which in turn could be cooked and sold to the next caravan for a profit.
- The clothes industry has started up, to replace all the falling-apart clothes and reduce the number of naked kid butts seen around the fortress. It is minimal for now — just cloth shoes, trousers and coats. The dwarves would be happier if we expand that to gloves, caps, hoods, etc.
- Two darves had their up-to-once-in-a-lifetime strange moods this turn. One generated a legendary earring. The other generated a legendary pig iron toy axe. Neither caused the crafter to gain legendary skill.
- The legendary bed has been moved into Thornbeard’s room.
- Dwarven caravans arrive in the autumn. We will find out if we are being upgraded to a barony then.
- Maltose is working on a very special brew, involving a rare ingredient not before seen in the fortress: honey. Hives have been built, and the dwarves found some wild colonies to get the hives started. It will take a while to be able to harvest the honey comb, then go through the process to get mead.
- There is an increasing amount of clutter around the fortress. This is because most dwarves have no personal quarters in which to store things, so they tend to leave clothes, bits of armor, and tools laying around.
- Thornbeard, like Maltose, has become close friends with Ecroh the goblin bard.
- Maltose became close friends with Thob the visiting bardess, and Cog the poetess, who has taken long-term work at the fortress as an entertainer.
Turn Wrap-Up
Let’s try a different approach to character sheets this time! Below is a gallery with the fortress status, and character sheets — one sheet per character. The entire sheet can be overwhelming to look at, so I’ve posted a guide on how to find the info you’re after.
Clicking an image will bring up a viewer. There is a link in the viewer to see the full-sized image.
The images are big…if this isn’t readable on whatever device you are using, let me know.
Here are the maps, with notes:
In case you’re curious, here’s all 13 screens of the combat log from the werebison’s perspective. Just to prove I’m not making this stuff up. This raw log has a lot more gory detail on the injuries.
While I appreciate being kept beard-deep in blood from various attacks, brawls, and other fuckupery of various drunks and dolts, I will admit that this doleful lonesomeness is eating at me a bit. And from the moaning complaints I’ve been hearing from some of my other fellow dwarves, I think I ain’t the only one.
For the good of the fortress and future generations, perhaps we ought to consider a better way for, er, nature to take her course. I have heard tell that some humans have a custom where single lads and lasses come to a tavern, have several drinks, and engage in something called “rapid courtship”.
They sit ‘cross from each other and chat for maybe five ticks of the clock (or perhaps one short song from a bard). They get to know each other, then, you know, move on to the next one. It’s supposed to be a good way for folks to get to know each other and, you know, increase the likelihood of finding the right mate.
Alternatively, maybe we start celebrating some kind of fertility festival or something? I ain’t talking about moonlit orgies like the demented elves (though, you know, open mind and all), but something to, er, move the bodily humors in the, er, right direction.
Also, in what spare time I have when I’m not meeting the future Mrs. Fark or otherwise locking were-people in basements, you can find me in one of the craft shops, probably woodworking. There’s a sore lack of places for people to put their clothes and other personal belongings in the fortress and my ancestors are calling me to do more than stitch together bone and sinew, I want to actually make something….
Another entertaining comment! Thank you for the fun read. Please forgive me for the bland, plain response below.
Fark can absolutely split his time between looking for love and practicing carpentry! You’re right; people would benefit from some furniture.
Speed dating and festivals: wow. I’ve been doing everything I can think of to accelerate the relationship process (and I have a spreadsheet showing it’s working) but you may be on to something there. The biggest factor in forming relationships is time in the tavern. Some dwarves with very busy jobs rarely make it down there. If we were to stop work for everyone from time to time, everyone would get to meet everyone, and that may inspire something new. We’ll see!
Sadly, I had not hoped to require more brewings of the hero’s stout, but will always do so to honor our fallen who give life and limb in defense of Alegate. Happily, its drinking also aids in the recovery from wounds and ailment! If only there were more I could do personally to help our defenders ward off such grim assaults as we have seen of late. Might it be a reasonable thing to have our fighters make a regular rotation of surface time to minimize the possibility of disorientation when rushing to defense? Also, it seems a lack of good armor contributed to the grievousness of hurts suffered by the defenders. Our smiths can forge these items with no difficulty, but they can’t forge them with no fuel. I suggest we strongly consider trying to find a proper source of coal, whether we have to discover a layer of coal in the delvings, acquire it in trade, or prospect around the territory for an undiscovered source.
I salute my good friend Ecroh for his attentiveness to the goings-on about the delvings. All tales, glad and sorrowful must be heard. I look forward every day to hearing what he has learned and trading tales and ales with him and Thob and Cog and Thornbeard. As ever, work continues on the special brew project. I wonder if our apiary is susceptible to were-beast attack? Undoubtedly, we must guard it against regular-beast (and possibly regular-dwarf!) attack.
More hero’s stout: so be it! Honoring our fallen and wounded is a fine thing.
Surface rotation: absolutely! There will be grumbling, but better grumbles than injuries. Besides, that military training gym is getting quite crowded.
Fuel: the miners can certainly delve deeper. Also, because the mountainhome sends the queen’s representative with every caravan, we can request they bring coal when they return on the following autumn.
Safe apiary: a good thought! We do not want langurs stealing our honeycomb, or kobolds lobbing them like bocce balls. For now, the apiary is inside the wall, near the entrance to the clay delvings. Occasionally an animal or worker is stung, but that does no real harm. The hives must be in a place open to the sky for the bees to do their work, so we can not keep them in our safe, underground delvings.
As long as the beasts are outside our walls, the bees are safe. Unless one of our cats gets them. The do that some times, but only with a single bee. Our hives hold thousands.