Part 33: Jazzimus Prime: Update 6
Syrupleaf - Chapter V Part 6 - The Nightmare Begins
2nd Limestone 142
The dwarves of Syrupleaf are beginning to relax. I am tempted to do the same, but I know that the sand raiders could strike again at any time. Armok only knows why they would have ever made the journey here in the first place. Vox Nihili believes that they have heard the tales of the legendary Golden Boot he created several years ago, and wish to steal it. I suppose that's as good a reason as any.
Regardless, I believe that it is always better to be proactive than to be reactive, so I order three more dwarves, Spermy Smurf, SWATjester, and Firos, to be recruited into the military. They are outfitted with Euminides's steel warhammers and Vox Nihili's steel full plate armor.
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4th Limestone 142
I am accosted in the central chamber by a dwarf that I don't recognize.
"Jazzimus, I'm going to need a leatherworks to be constructed as soon as possible. Give the order to make it happen," he demands.
"And just who are you?" I ask.
"I'm Mystical Haberdasher," he replies.
"Why do you need a leatherworks?"
"To perform some mystical haberdashery, you idiot!" he cackles gleefully.
I roll my eyes. Still, something good might come of this dwarf's sudden inspiration, so I give the order for the leatherworks to be constructed.
Once the structure is complete, Mystical Haberdasher claims the workshop for himself. This had better be good.
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12th Limestone 142
Glory to Armok! In the distance, I can see a dwarven caravan from the mountainhomes approaches our fortress. Although we are not in an immediate need of any particular resource, we can always use more wood, food, and alcohol. I order the trade depot drawbridge to be opened.
Later that day, Mystical Haberdasher begins work on his construction.
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13th Limestone 142
The first of the dwarven caravan wagons rolls into the trade depot.
I permit myself a smile, which quickly widens into a broad grin. We have all of the resources we need here, and we will soon be purchasing more of that which is scarce. Our entryway is being paved with gold at this very moment. Our military patrols have complete control of the situation outside.
I stop for a moment to consider my appreciation for the the soldiers patrolling outside Syrupleaf, who have made the area around the fortress safe, in spite of the bitter cold.
I look up. One of these patrolling soldiers, Syntax!, is sprinting for the city gates right now. His face is deathly pale.
"Jazzimus! Call everyone inside! Shut the gates!" he screams.
"What? What is it?" I ask.
"THE SPAWN!"
I quickly climb to the top of the hill above the gatehouse and survey the area. To the northwest, I can see some shapes in the distance. They are closing in on the fortress rapidly.
I ring the fortress alarm bell. As the last of the military patrols scramble into the gatehouse, I sprint back into the gatehouse myself, and look to the trade depot to the east. The rear guards of the Dwarven caravan are standing there, confused, on the bridge east of the depot.
I scream at them to hurry across the bridge. As they scramble into the trade depot, 64bitrobot pulls a couple of switches, retracting the bridge to the east of the depot and raising the two gatehouse drawbridges. The gatehouse and trade depot are now sealed off.
Skullbuggy and I climb to the top of the trade depot to survey the area. The snowstorms have died down, and we have a clear view from this vantage point. Approaching from the northwest, we can see no less than seventeen large humanoid shapes.
As they get closer, I can see that they have stumpy claws for hands, and a horrible toothy vertical "mouth", or something like a mouth, between two misshapen eyes.
One of them is much, much larger than the rest.
As they approach the fortress, the creatures ignore a nearby woolly mammoth, which rumbles away from them as fast as it can in terror. The leader of these creatures is clearly a couple of feet taller than the fleeing mammoth. Dear Armok, the thing must be sixteen or seventeen feet tall!
"Those ... THOSE are the Spawn?!" I ask Skullbuggy.
"Yes," he spits out in terror.
"And the large one ... is that ... is that Holistic Detective?"
"I ... I don't know."
Skullbuggy wrote :-
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Entry - 12/13 Lime., the Fifth Year
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I woke up and I still smell brimstone. It's getting so much worse and I can't sleep. I don't like where this is going. I'm going to try to sleep.
- S
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Entry - 13 Lime., the Fifth Year
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I smell brimstone really bad now and I think something bad is happeni
tehsid wrote :-
15th Hematite 142
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Word around the fortress this fine morn is that of a human caravan coming. I prey to Armok nothing is here to greet them this time.
I have been keeping to myself of late. Its hard here because there is little for me to do at this time. I know my time will come, and I can occupy my time with more booze and food. What has felt like only days, has been weeks. How I have missed that feeling.
25st Hematite 142
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Skullbuggy came to me yesterday and asked if I could smell anything. Other then my own brew ridden gas, I couldn't. Poor dwarf has been getting more and more stressed as the weeks go on. We discovered a vain of gold today, which has made everybody a little happier. Its starting to feel like it wasn't in vain coming here. Syrupleaf is really looking up. Its still cold, as it always is and always will be, but we have not been attacked of late. Which is nice. The loss of a few dwarfs a few weeks prior shook us all, and the procession after was a bit to much for some to handle, but it keeps you grounded, you know?
13th Limestone 142
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The fortress is quiet this morning. I don't know why...
13th Limestone 142 /2
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HELL ON EARTH THEY ARE HERE, THE SPAWN IS HERE. I thought they where joking. If this be the last time I update this cursed book, then I pray that the place I head is better then here. To whomever reads this, my family are in Hawkjester Fortress, near Takinguard. Send them my love, make sure they read this.
Recursive wrote :-
Diary: first entry.
8th Hem. 142
Batmen. Why'd it have to be Batmen?
If it weren't for that quick-shooting crossbow-woman we'd be taken right now. Taken like our sister back in the old country. Taken to a dark, dank, guano filled cave to die horribly. I can't imagine anything worse.
Maybe I should aspire to a better profession than a collector of bones and garbage. But one does have to start somewhere, doesn't one?
SWATJester wrote :-
Diary of SWATJester
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Ya know, it wasn't so bad when I was given the choice of life in prison at Headshoots (which I was a founding dwarf of) or being sent to this Holisticspawn-forsaken glacier. I don't mind the cold. I'm a carpenter, it doesn't affect me. As long as the idiots that run this place can bring me the wood, I'll make life better around here for everyone. At least it won't be so goddamned hot.
And then the reckoning came. Some moron babbling about pumps, and a gimp with a busted leg came up and broke the bad news to me. "SWATJester, ye've received a great honor! Ye gets ta go ta WAR!" I stood, mouth agape. WAR? Fuck that. I'd put that part of my life behind me. I never again wanted to feel the weight of a hammer within my hands striking anything but wood, certainly not soft quivering flesh as I pounded it into a fine mist and reveled in the jelly-like remains of what used to be brains of goblin and dwarf alike. I was once the entity of death. A living hammer. And I could feel the bloodthirst calling again.
It must be done.
It shall be done.
I will, again, become War.