Part 55: by mariguana

From the Diary of Mariguana

1st Granite, 1063, Early Spring:

I introduced myself to the people of Boatmurdered today, and put on my best toughguy facade-- you know, threatening a few people with death here, demanding absolute obedience there. Really, I'm not at all like that, but I didn't think they would listen to me unless they feared me. And it's better to be feared than loved. That's a little something I learned in Nikoddo Momuziavelli's "The Overlord".

There are so many problems with Boatmurdered that I don't even know how to begin reversing the cycle of decay. The first thing I noticed was the smell, and I don't know what to say about it. It's... it's like an elephant's ass. Then I saw the bones, and the rotting pieces of flesh that children kick around in the streets, and the nightmare scenes carved into the walls, of dwarves and animals screaming, of monsters gorging upon children in lumps, and... things I never want to speak of. It's as if the Dwarves of Boatmurdered have lost all hope.

I don't know what to do for these people or if, indeed, there is anything that can be done for them. For now, I have ordered them to move these piles of goblin equipment to the magma river to be melted.

By the Gods. How many legions of goblins have died before the gates of Boatmurdered?

5th Granite, 1063, Early Spring:

I woke up in a pile of garbage outside of my room. I think I drank too much, or maybe I was knocked out, and placed there to die. I'm not sure.

I am irritated to note that in the past four days, not one piece of goblin armor has been moved to the armor stockpile I have designated in the back end of the fortress. I decided to investigate the problem, and found that of the 72 dwarves currently living in this fortress, 22 are nobility, four are children, six are employed in the military (note: this will need to be increased later), five have wounds that leave them unfit for work, and a dozen more were partying.

Something had to give. I regret that it had to come to this, but for now, there will be no partying in Boatmurdered. I hope none of the men will be terribly upset by this decision.

Today I also noticed that the fortress is sorely lacking in bins. Not wanting to send any of my already scant workforce out into the wild to cut down trees, I ordered the production of some metal bins, and was horrified to find that the only dwarf who knows his way around a forge is currently in jail! I think I understand now why my predecessors left this place in such a mess.

20th Granite, 1063, Early Spring:

The elves have arrived, diary. Their meddling is the last thing poor, struggling Boatmurdered needs. Why should we help them? The elves have done nothing for the dwarves but waste our time with their moronic little demands.

The elven diplomat is here, and unsurprisingly, she thinks she can boss us dwarves around. Who the hell does she think she is? My gut tells me I should have her strapped to a boulder and lobbed over the horizon. My gut tells me that I should fell every tree in the forest, set fire to the grasses, and... and... Gods. Everything about her makes me angry. And yet part of me recognizes the need for good relations with these fools. What should I do?