Part 51: Silento Boborachi: Update 2
Amongst the cold tundra, just out of eyesight of the fortress, a glint of metal reflects into the rocks ahead, and is returned. In the distance, what looks like an ice drake seems to by flying away. Two dwarves meet, obscured by both the snow and their dizzying camouflaged cloaks...
SB: "It's about time you showed up, I'm not sure if this is a promotion to continue my work in private, or a punishment for falling behind schedule, but I'm leaning towards the latter. You know how much I hate the cold. The ride here really grinds my gears, which is ironic concerning how much the gears in the-"
"S": "Well hello to you too, and thanks for asking how we are doing, here's your report. We'll be inside where I don't have to worry about my eyelids freezing open. The former overseer just left to attend another fortress, the mayor has been notified of your coming as his replacement. I haven't gone into detail the plans Parasol has, I've left the lying to you."
And so one of the dwarves turns and heads toward the fortress of Syrupleaf, and a whisper is caught by the chill wind from the one remaining...
SB: "Should have figured she would, if they bring them during battle, why not on a little recon mission as well? Oh well, always fun to see my nephew in a battle fatigue onesie. Time to meet the locals..."
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Recon report of 3rd Granite, 144, Early Spring:
There are currently 62 dwarves of various professions residing within the fortress, and it should be noted there is a strong militia of those dwarves in place.
Local fauna range from less aggressive creatures like batmen:
and troglodytes:
to more aggressive cave swallows, and a few fire imps:
Near the end of my survey, in the outer reaches of the glacier, I must have been suffering from fatigue, because I saw what my ID device could only say was a fairy, a "fluffy wambler" and, well, here's the direct input from the device:
Whether they are real or not, I don't know, I just know that there are odd things in these hills. No signs of the frost giants, sand raiders or the so-called "spawn" beyond rotting corpses in the fortress bone stockpiles:
Sirocco wrote :-
The Journal of Sirocco: NINTH ENTRY
Hey, diary!
Another year passes at the handsome glacial palace of Syrupleaf. I've been taking the time to just relax, sit out at night, and watch the stars as they twinkle down at me. The miners need to chop me out of the ice in the morning 'cos it kinda makes you stuck... but I think it's a small price to pay for appreciating the beauty of the moon on a cold winter night!
My back's been really sore lately. You know when you get one of those itches that you just can't reach? Well, I had one of them and I used a pickaxe to get at it. Then I felt this really weird sensation which Jazzimus assures me is PAIN. I didn't like it much. I tried to ask him some more about it but he got spooked by something and ran off saying he needed to recount every single rock in the entire fortress.
I asked Koorisch, our weaver, to take a look at my back.
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'HI KOORISCH!' I shouted. He can't have heard me though because he didn't even turn to look at me so I shouted it again and waved my arms a bit. Then I shouted his name really slowly in case he thought I was talking to someone else.
'KOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIIIISCH!!!' I shouted.
'WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!' he yelled back, shaking his fist at me in a cheerful and salutory fashion.
'MY BACK ITCHES.'
'I DON'T GIVE A BATMAN'S ARSE,' he replied.
I considered this for a moment. It seemed like an insult, but I couldn't be sure and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
'IT REALLY ITCHES.'
Koorisch walked over, putting his needles in his pocket.
'I've buggered up ten stitches already because of you. Turn around. Just- just turn around and I'll have a look.'
I obliged.
'I'll scratch your damn itch for you, I hope you like being Syrupleaf's only dwarven pincushion- HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK.'
'What?! What is it?!'
'I CAN SEE BONE!'
'Neat.'
'SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. THAT'S YOUR FUCKING SPINE. WHAT DID YOU DO TO IT?!'
'Not enough. Could you scratch it?'
'YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING HOLE IN YOUR BACK. YOU NEED A DOCTOR!'
I paused. 'What's a doc-tor?'
'It's a fancy word for bucket-carrier.'
'Cool.'
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The captain of the guard says I'm not allowed to spar anymore because of my spine injury so I'm just spending my time putting stuff in bins and admiring the scenery now. Oh well!!! It gives me time to draw the plans for an observatory so we can look at the stars more closely! My theory? I think they're snowflakes that got stuck up there somehow.
Bye bye diary!