BEARDS and BRIMSTONE

New Fortress: The Demon-Peak

One hundred years from the creation of our world, Tar Rabin: “The Land of Omen,” the dwarven people at last look beyond the walls of their ancestral Mountainhome. We are The Tattooed Flag, the lone dwarf civilization in a land of ever-growing numbers of humans, elves, and goblins. We too must expand, or in time we will be overwhelmed by our neighbors, and will perish. So says our king.

He would not be content with a mere outpost elsewhere on our mountain range, nor even in the scrubland that spreads out beyond the foothills. Nor even in the marshes that are more distant still. Our brash monarch spent his youth adventuring in the wilds, living there for many years. He had even grown to worship some strange titan that he must have encountered there. Among his advisors he unrolled his hide maps. With a calloused finger he pointed to another mountain range far to the east, across a forested isthmus. “A proper mountainhome,” he said. “Where no other, human or elf, would dare to settle. When at last it flourishes, when dwarven workmanship flows from its gates, the might of our people will be unquestioned.” Glumly, the advisors regarded the printing on the map. Around the indicated mountains, strokes of purple pigment marked several towers. Obsidian towers. The towers of the cackling, skulking, ever-warring goblins, whose armies rolled across the landscape like a gibbering tide. To the south, another tower was marked: the home of a mysterious necromancer.

But the king knew the dangers of his gambit, and had no plans to send large numbers of his people to what may be certain death. A party of seven would make the initial journey. If the site was successfully located, several more dwarves would travel to join them later in the year. Afterwards, the Mountainhome would send trade caravans when possible, but further migration was to be forbidden. If the venture was to succeed, it would grow from the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of the brave founders.

And so it came to pass that I, Atir Febingish, Atir “Arrowbodice,” in my fifty-second year of life was approached by the king himself and  asked to lead the expedition. I have no husband, no children. With nothing to lose but a drab life in the monotony of our safe halls, with everything to gain for our people and for our place in history, I accepted his offer. From among my friends and acquaintances, I found six other dwarves of skill and courage who volunteered to join me:

• Atir Oltaronol “Gildmountain”: A fighting instructor skilled in sword and shield, female.
• Asmel Kudnish “Slicktraded”: A fighting instructor skilled in mace and evasion, male.
• Rith Unibmozir “Ragrouts”: A weapon and armorsmith, male.
• Iden Vaboknazom “Orbsdreamed”: A mason and carpenter, female.
• Vabok Steruslogen “Drivenpaint”: A miner, male.
• Udil Koshkeskal “Slaughtersshot”: A miner, male.

The cartographers carefully chose our destination. The site lay on the western side of the small mountain range, deep in the heart of goblin territory. It bore steep, dramatic cliffs that dropped away to the edge of a conifer forest. To the southwest, the bend of a small river would reach within the bounds of our territory. The geologists spent much time discussing among themselves stratigraphy, sedimentation, and vulcanism, and concluded that the area was likely to contain useful metal ore both shallow and deep. We would only know the specifics when we arrived and began digging.

I named our group Likotisthar, “The Inky Roses,” for we would grow deadly and beautiful in that dark and distant land. The king decreed that our new fortress was to be named Uthgurilrom, “The Demon-Peak,” perhaps in hopes that its name alone would cow the hostile forces that were sure to be sent against it.

The day of departure came at last, and workers loaded our single wagon:

• A cat, two peahens, and a single peacock;
• Several barrels of preserved cave fish and cave lobster;
• Several barrels of dwarven beer and rum;
• Small bags of seeds for some of our traditional subterranean crops: plump helmets, pig tails, and cave wheat;
• A dozen or so fungiwood logs;
• A stack of granite blocks;
• Several bronze bars for smithing;
• A small load of charcoal;
• An iron anvil;
• A stack of peafowl leather;
• Several pieces of different cloths: cave spider silk, sheep wool, and pig tail fiber, plus some strands of silk thread.

The king strode up to our small party, looked us each in the eye, clapped our shoulders, and spoke to us words of encouragement and gratitude. He made a strange speech about wishing us the strength of his beloved wilderness titan that he worships. We made our way to the great gates of the Mountainhome, and the king walked with us until we crossed the threshold. The entire population had turned out to see us off, and they thronged the pathway as we rumbled out. They shouted and cheered, waving weapons in the air and downing great tankards of ale. Children were held aloft, the better to see the dawn of the greatest quest yet of the dwarven people. Our wagon wound down the mountainside, and we waved to the revelers. As we rolled onward, the crowd thinned. And thinned further. We met a few farmers who smiled, raised their tools in the air, and hollered greetings. And then we descended into the scrubland, and were alone. The wagon creaked along, and not one of us spoke to another.

I turned to look behind us. Somewhere behind the hills was our great Mountainhome, but I could catch no sight nor sound of its teeming vastness. The raucous joy that dogged our departure seemed swallowed by the very stone. A breeze came up, and rustled the small bushes.

We would never return.

Game rules:

• Game ends when the fortress is lost or when Atir Arrowbodice dies.
• No weapon traps may be used. Upright spike traps are allowed, and stonefall traps may be given limited use.

Game modifications in place:

• No immigrants past Year 1;
• Dwarven children mature at age 4, and reach full size at age 5;
• Maximum number of children set to 25, or 33% of the population;
• Bugged grazing animals fixed.

• 13 May 2013

Feverdrink: Year 8

Dwarven calendar year: 135

For his incredible valor and tenacity, the one-armed marskdwarf was promoted to the vacant position of fortress champion. Not one for fame, he continued to humbly go about eliminating pesky cavern critters.

The population had become low, and the existing dwarves were vastly overtasked in the aftermath of the many battles. The booze supply ran out and they subsisted on water, slowing them further. A mandate from the Baron to produce short swords went unmet, and he chose to vent his anger on a random mason, accusing her of crime and demanding justice. The blind speardwarf took up her role as Hammerer and managed to locate the mason, drag her to the dungeon, and chain her up. She selected a warhammer from the weapons stockpile.

Returning to the dungeon, the Hammerer raised the weapon, and despite her blindness was able to connect the weapon to the mason’s skull. The blow wrecked the mason’s upper spine and she was instantly paralyzed, unable to even draw breath, and in minutes she was dead.

Meanwhile, a huge commotion had started in the food processing area, just north of the main dining hall. A giant cave spider had appeared in the caverns and quickly found its way to the population center. It skittered among the workshops, spewing web at the panicking dwarves. It caught and killed the blacksmith, just as the champion marksdwarf arrived and began to loose bolts at the creature. The spider covered him in webbing. It turned on another passing dwarf, immobilizing him with webbing and mauling him to death with its mandibles.

The blind speardwarf fought through the sticky silk and flailed at the spider with her spear, hitting nothing. The spider bit at her ferociously, but its jaws were turned away by her steel armor. It snatched at the head of a fleeing animal trainer, shook the dwarf violently while injecting venom, and the dwarf fell dead. Then the spider killed the logger, then the brewer. It finally managed to maul the arm of the blind speardwarf, and she dropped her weapon. Several bolts from the marksdwarf began to find their target. One penetrated the spider’s cephalothorax and sank into its tiny brain, and at last it fell dead.

Later in the season, a few brave migrants showed up at Feverdrink. Only four, and one was a child. The three adults took up weapons and armor to form a new militia. As they gathered their equipment, one of the migrants suddenly dropped stone dead. Before putting on her gauntlets, she had picked up a shield covered with the toxic blood of the pterosaur-beast that had attacked in Year 5. Contact with her bare skin triggered a paralysis that stilled her breathing, and now the militia was back down to two.

In late spring, the elves arrived to trade. A goblin ambush followed. As the elves scattered and the goblins pursued a dwarven gemsetter, the marksdwarf landed a bolt in the throat of one goblin, and began firing at the others. The goblins managed to catch and behead the gemsetter, but the champion and the recruit hammerdwarf slew the rest. The civilians of Feverdrink ventured outside to haul goods to the trade depot.

Immediately, two more ambush squads appeared. The goblins killed a mason, and knocked the hammerdwarf off the the entrance walkway, and he fell to his death. The swarming goblins engaged the elves, and the elves and their pack animals began to fall quickly, their blood smearing across the trade depot floor. And then, a werehedgehog appeared from the forest, goaded into assault by the full moon.

Alas, the goblin bowmen slew it before it could battle any of their melee soldiers. The dwarves and surviving elves ran about madly. The goblins slew the clothier, the bookkeeper, a woodburner, the carpenter. They slew the last of the elves, and their beasts of burden all lay dead or wounded. The dwarves ran into the depths of the fortress, but trailing them all was the mayor: our weaponsmith. A bolt from a goblin crossbowman impacted her leg, and she fell. Another sank into her gut. A goblin axeman strode to her side, and raised his weapon and split her skull. A wave rolled in from the ocean, and her body floated about in the surf.

The goblins had killed everything outside. They rallied and charged into the fortress, winding down the spiraled ramp. As they entered the final hallway to the center of Feverdrink, one of the dwarves toggled a lever built into the dining hall, and a drawbridge rose up in front of the goblins, blocking their passage. They searched for an alternate route, and found it: a staircase built into the hallway wall. The goblins surged into the staircase, climbing ever downward, passing through the natural caverns.

At last, they entered a deep corridor, and worked their way forward. Opening up before them was a tall, artificial cavern in the rock. Through it was a narrow walkway zigzagging across an open pit of magma. It was the long-rumored trap hall of Feverdrink.

A squad of goblin bowmen, led by a lasher, strode forward onto the walkway. One of the bowmen tripped a hidden trap, and a spiked ball came swinging out of the floor as the goblins crowded past. Several goblins dodged away safely, but the spiked ball thudded into the head of one. Another bowman also dodged, but fell from the walkway and splashed into the magma. Magma mist rose, and ignited a second goblin, from whom a cloud of smoke rose as it fell over and died.

The lasher, undeterred, charged forward, winding deftly over the magma. At the far end, it entered a checkerboard maze of stone pillars. At the far side, it came upon what waited: a row of chained giant dingo pups, with the champion marksdwarf and a speardwarf recruit.

Alas, the goblin was skilled, and it instantly cracked its weapon and slew two of the dingos. It lashed again, and struck the speardwarf’s arm hard enough to shatter the bone, and his spear fell to the floor. The marksdwarf unleashed several bolts from his crossbow, but they dinged off of the goblin’s iron mail shirt. The lasher shattered the speardwarf’s skull, and slew a third dingo. Finally the marksdwarf found his target, sinking a bolt into the goblin’s arm, but the creature pressed forward. The marksdwarf continued firing until his quiver came up empty, injuring the goblin further but unable to penetrate its armor for a crippling wound. He began bashing the goblin with the butt of his wooden crossbow.

Meanwhile, the other squad of goblins, axemen, had entered the trap corridor. One dodged a spiked ball and tumbled into the magma sea. Then, back in the dining hall, someone pulled another lever. Above the goblins, small bridges suddenly retracted, and refuse of all types came crashing down into the molten rock around the goblins: skeletons, stones, rotten remains of human siegers. Magma mist roiled up and covered several goblin axemen, instantly igniting them.

Above:

Below:

The magma-mist that felled The Swine-Deeps had now been weaponized in favor of the dwarves! The surviving axemen milled in confusion, and then turned and fled. The attack was broken.

Still, however, the champion one-armed marksdwarf was tangling with the injured lasher. Finally the marskdwarf broke free to seek more ammunition. The goblin managed to crawl off and escape into the caverns, to an unknown and uncertain fate.

In the summer, five more migrants dared to join the fortress. Four were drafted into the again-empty militia: two axedwarves, one speardwarf, and one macedwarf who was given the steel artifact.

The Baron, unfortunately, was at the limits of sanity. Again he demanded short swords, and again the dwarves were unable to supply his demand before his patience wore out. Already miserable from so many deaths, this failure put him over the edge, and he went stark raving mad. He wandered about the fortress for some time, babbling, until he at last died of thirst.

The champion marksdwarf, however, was incredibly pleased with life, and especially with the performance of his crossbow. He bestowed upon the weapon a name: “Adagbithsest,” the Soaked Triangle.

In late autumn, the dwarven caravan from the Mountainhome arrived, and they filed their wagons into the trade depot. Immediately afterwards, an old foe appeared at the borders.

The humans, apparently none too pleased at the rejection of their peace offer, and the ensuing lethal collapse of masonry upon their merchants, had returned in force. They were axemen, swordsmen, and crossbowmen, mounted in great numbers upon horses and camels.

The dwarven caravan had several bodyguards, and Feverdrink’s tiny, unskilled militia was busily training, but the human force was very large. Yet the treacherous long-legs did not advance, and seemed content to hold the borders of the territory. Eventually, the dwarves tentatively began carrying out goods to trade with the caravan.

Suddenly, the human swordsmen advanced on the trade depot. The caravan guards apparently had little regard for the mettle of their foes, for only a single speardwarf charged down the ramps to meet them. The humans quickly broke rank and scattered, with the single speardwarf pursuing them madly. It ran down one of the humans, slaying both a swordsman and his horse.

However, as the swordsmen ran in panic, the human crossbowmen charged. A hammerdwarf and macedwarf from the caravan guard strode down to face them, and did an amazing job of dodging and deflecting the hail of crossbow bolts. Sensing an opportunity, the dwarves of Feverdrink ordered their militia to follow behind the caravan guards. Just as the militia arrived, the caravan macedwarf took a bolt to the body, fell, and was quickly slain. His companion hammerdwarf instantly broke off the attack, fled back to the depot, and left the Feverdrink militia to face the humans alone. A Feverdrink axedwarf collapsed under the barrage and died. The champion, one-armed marksdwarf climbed atop an old wooden gazebo that had been built in the first year of the fortress, and commenced firing bolts down upon the humans.

The humans responded, lofting a storm of bolts towards his position. Again and again, their bronze bolts thudded into his body. He wavered, and then lay down upon the floor. Still the bolts flew in, piercing his armor and tearing his body. Stricken and immobile, and lay helpless as the bowmen continued their assault.

In a heroic effort to save the champion, the surviving miner donned armor and shield, and charged out of the fortress to engage the enemy. The crossbowmen and swordsmen scattered before his fury, and during this distraction a lone mason ran out and retrieved the fallen marskdwarf. Amazingly, he was still alive. Truly a dwarf of unparalleled fortitude. The mason carried him down to the hospital.

Meanwhile, the caravan guard had rallied, and ran down the ramps in pursuit of the humans. The human crossbowmen were out of ammunition and helpless, having expended many dozens of bolts attempting to slay the Feverdrink champion. The ocean was frozen now, and in the deep cold the caravan guards pursued the frightened humans across the ice.

As the swordsmen and crossbowmen were distracted, the human axemen gathered their courage and actually charged the fortress entrance, quickly killing the dwarven merchants. They entered the Feverdrink stairway, and atop their mounts they galloped down the winding ramps towards the fortress center. Like the goblins before them, however, the humans found their way to the trapped hallway.

The first among them guided their horses and camels across narrow walkway, only to spring the spiked ball traps. The weapons broke the bones of several attackers as they passed, and two more attempted to dodge the blows only to lose their foothold and tumble into the exposed magma. Alas, they had not advanced far when two of the Feverdrink militia came foolishly running into the trap tunnel themselves, hunting pieces of armor. They encountered a single human axeman. The axeman swung his weapon at one, and the dwarf tumbled into the magma of his own deathtrap. The other dwarf jabbed with his spear, but the human avoided the attack and charged the dwarf; the dwarf attempted to evade, and like his companion he toppled off the walkway and the magma claimed him.

The human axeman made it to the end of the tunnel, only to encounter the conscripted miner who had retrieved the fallen champion. They battled briefly, and then the miner drove his iron pick into the chest of the human, who instantly fell dead.

The other axemen had seen enough, and wheeled their mounts around and fled back towards the surface. Outside, the bowmen and swordsmen also ran for the borders of the Feverdrink territory. More dwarves had died and the caravan from the Mountainhome had been slaughtered, but once again Feverdrink had survived.

In the hospital, however, the humans were about to claim one more victim. The one-armed champion marksdwarf had taken multiple injuries to his lungs, and lay for several days struggling to breathe. Despite the best work of the doctor, he eventually succumbed. Yet another champion of Feverdrink had passed.

Despite the near-endless violence, the god of blood had still not been sated. Just as the dwarves were venturing out to continue working to return order to the fortress, they heard the drums of war beating yet again. Closing in from all sides, bristling with weapons, was an enormous goblin siege.

They came along the beach, they came from the forest. Nearly seventy goblins organized into multiple squads, with at least sixteen hulking trolls towering among them. May Armok have mercy on our souls.

There were no easily-panicked humans. The monsters closed in from all angles, and crowded down into the fortress entrance in a yammering swirl. Like a cyclone of bats dropping endless into the chimney of their roost. The dwarves closed the drawbridge to block the main tunnel, and the undeterred attackers gamely charged into the trap tunnel. Some goblin bowmen entered first, and quickly shot down a glassworker who was there picking valuables from among the corpses. Unheeding, the goblins strode across the first spiked ball trap, which was still jammed with the corpses of humans and their mounts. The second trap was still operational, and it sent a dodging goblin over the edge and into the magma. The resulting splash ignited another goblin, and great gouts of smoke began to fill the tunnel. The attackers pressed forward, fearless.

Others entered the tunnel and sprinted easily over the clogged traps: axemen, trolls, more bowmen. A dwarf flipped several levers to drop garbage into the magma, but the resulting splashes caused little damage to the bellowing horde.

The dwarves had hastily dragged all of the giant dingos, pups and adults, to the far side of the stone pillar maze at the end of the trap tunnel. The front wave of attackers charged out from among the pillars, and quickly the dingos mauled to death two goblin bowmen.

Immediately behind them came several trolls, who battled the dingos in a ferocious snarl of fangs, tusks, and fur. The trolls overwhelmed the canines, and bowmen thudded iron bolts into their wounded bodies.

Civilian dwarves frantically grabbed any weapons and armor they could find, and charged down to face the siegers. Many dwarves fell. An axedwarf and the miner slew three trolls, but quickly retreated before the surge of axemen and bowmen, desperately hunting for a strategic position from which to make a stand.

Now several trolls and goblin axemen had found their way up into the population center of Feverdrink, and dwarves ran screaming as the monsters ran them down and broke their bodies with axe and with tusk.

Slaughter and pandemonium were everywhere, and there was nothing to be done. Attackers still filed through the useless trap tunnel and joined the mayhem in numbers ever growing.

The end had come to Feverdrink.

Someone threw the lever to open the drawbridge, and the dwarves fled for their lives. For their miserable lives.

• 11 May 2013

Feverdrink: Year 7

Dwarven calendar year: 134

The spring found the fortress bookkeeper wandering through the second cavern, across its lifeless muddy floor and through its twisted passages. In those depths she stumbled upon a pair of blind cave ogres lurking in the darkness. She turned and fled, and the pale naked monsters with their pale naked faces lurched after her. She ran across a cage trap, and one of the ogres was contained. The other pursued her through the cavern until she stepped into the webbing of a cave spider, and was held fast.

As she struggled, the ogre reached her and grabbed her arm. She wrenched the limb from its grasp and tore herself free from the webs. Again she fled across a cage trap, and the second ogre joined its companion in captivity.

The dwarves’ next encounter with spiderweb would not pass so fortuitously. In the shallower cavern, which housed the fortress proper of Feverdrink, a giant cave spider appeared. It skittered its hideous bulk into the goat pasture, and commenced spraying webbing across the livestock. It pounced upon a passing miner, clamped the dwarf’s head between its mandibles, and slung the dwarf around like a doll. The miner fell dead. An axe-dwarf from the militia arrived on the scene and trudged through the webbing, and attacked the creature. The spider snapped at its assailant, but the dwarf skillfully evaded and swung his weapon. A leg fell from the spider, and then another. Soon, four of the arachnid’s legs littered the ground, and a final blow bisected the creature.

Outside, the humans still kept up their patient siege. While the dwarves attempted to reset the cage traps, the crossbowmen slew one of the mechanics. In response, the dwarves dragged the several caged humans to the garbage chute, pulled them from their prisons and sent them hurtling down into the magma. There was no response outside.

Again, the dwarves emerged to try to reset the traps, but this time with a militia escort. Rapidly the humans engaged, wounding another mechanic with crossbow bolts. The militia charged down from the ramp of the half-finished entrance platform, with the champion axe-dwarf leading the way. A hail of bolts sailed towards her, but she nimbly blocked and dodged the missiles as they flew.

She reached the first crossbowman beside the small pond, and she swiftly hacked off the treacherous human’s limbs. A second axe-dwarf joined her and immediately clove another human in half, but two bolts hit the dwarf and he fell. The humans continued to fire upon him. A spear-dwarf arrived as the champion slew another enemy. A hammer-dwarf recruit swung his weapon clumsily, but managed to land a blow that broke a human’s arm. The corpses accumulated, and one crossbowman and the mounted human leader turned and fled. It was a rout, and the small siege was at last broken. The mechanic and the axe-dwarf, however, were gravely wounded.

The mechanic had spine damage and could not be fully healed by the doctors. Though he survived both injury and treatment, he now had no use of his legs. Nevertheless, the stoic engineer crawled his way back to work repairing traps. The other dwarves step over him.

After extensive surgery and bone setting, the axe-dwarf tentatively left the hospital. Soon after, however, he was found dead from infection. It seems the supply of soap bars had been depleted.

In the summer, the weaponsmith was elected mayor. The previous leader was summarily evicted from the mayor’s estate, a two-story room with golden furniture and masterful carvings on the walls surrounding the office.

Mayoral suite, Upper floor / Lower floor:

Not long into her tenure, however, in the cavern appeared a figure that was far more horrible than any human siege.

A hideous winged bristleworm, perversely covered with fluffy violet feathers. It flapped its vast and wriggling body through the northern reach of the fortress cavern, approaching the marble catwalk near the wells. The militia raced into position. Sure enough, the beast settled to the ground and squirmed up a ramp, and the militia charged. The dwarf wielding the artifact mace was the first to engage.

As the mace-dwarf swung her weapon, the worm puffed out a cloud of poisonous gas. The dwarf avoided the fumes and kicked it in the wing, but the worm knocked her over and blasted out another gout of poison, coating her. The effect was immediately apparent: the mace-dwarf was now blind. The worm seized her hand in its sucking mouth and tore off a finger. A sword-dwarf engaged and slashed the creature’s wing, tearing the skin. An axe-dwarf landed a single blow, and the worm issued out another cloud of poison, blinding them both. The bristleworm clamped its mouth around the mace-dwarf’s body, shattering ribs. It released and then bit her arm and tore it free from her body. The other dwarves were attacking it vainly, their sightless blows causing only superficial damage. The worm grabbed the mace-dwarf by the head, shook her violent, and she died.

The monster turned on the champion axe-dwarf and tore off her leg. It dropped the limb and then tore off her arm, and then shattered the other leg. The champion bled out and died. The sword-dwarf inhaled a lungfull of poison vapor and also fell dead. A fresh hammer-dwarf arrived onscene and attacked. The beast easily caught his arm in its terrible jaws, shattered the bone, and slung him off of the catwalk. The mangled dwarf tumbled into the cavern lake, and then drowned. Two others fall dead. The last surviving member of the militia, a spear-dwarf, thrust his weapon forward and stabbed the bristleworm in the wing. The worm wrapped its mouth around his chest, crushed his lungs, and the dwarf suffocated.

Now unimpeded, the gigantic winged bristleworm roamed through the fortress. It slew the only planter, it slew a butcher. It snatched up and tore apart one of the two doctors. A woodcrafter was the next victim. The weaponsmith mayor began to tantrum.

And then, an unassuming figure emerged onto the scene: the single marksdwarf, tasked with culling troublesome wildlife. He stood unafraid, quiver of wooden bolts slung over his shoulder. The dwarf raised his simple wooden crossbow, and loosed a single bolt. It arced across the cavern, past the corpses, past the discarded belongings, and past the pools of blood. The bolt struck the rampaging bristleworm squarely in the head, sank into its vile flesh, and came to rest embedded in its annelid brain. The winged bristleworm, scourge of Feverdrink, fell stone dead.

The dwarves set themselves upon the arduous task of recovery from the attacks. There were many dead to be buried, the militia was broken, and few dwarves were left for the other critical functions of the fortress. Items were scattered everywhere. In a small moment of joy, the dwarves discovered that the giant dingo female had given birth to three pups. Once they grew into their massive adult forms, they would be an invaluable contribution to the defense of the fortress.

In the later summer, the unlikeliest of guests sauntered up to the fortress. Nevermind the swashes of blood still curdling in the grass. Nevermind the corpses of human bowmen still piled under the sun.

The humans had come to parlay. The dwarves watched, dumbfounded, as a line of human trade wagons rolled down the coast and pulled up at the trade depot. The merchants began unloading. The liason went down to meet with the Baron.

“Peace is calling out to us,” said the liason. “How do you respond?”

Still the dwarves of Feverdrink were toiling in the aftermath of the human siege. Still spouses, parents, and children grieved the loss of their loved ones. The Baron searched his soul for some mote of forgiveness, but found only stone. “We will drown her out with the screams of your dying. Begone.”

A dwarf pulled a lever. The lever had been connected to a stone support near the trade depot. The stone support held up a partial roof above the depot, constructed by the masons from additional stone. When the lever was triggered, the support disintegrated. The crushing weight of the falling ceiling bore down with full force upon the humans, their wagons, and their draft animals:

Choking dust billowed out from the scene of the collapse. All but three humans had been instantly killed; the survivors fled without their belongings. Silently, the liason departed with them.

A child, meanwhile, had entered a secretive mood, collected a hodgepodge of materials, and set to work in a craftsdwarf shop. The child triumphantly emerged with a bugbat bone spear. It was decorated with bones of humans killed in the siege, and bore a stone image of a human whipping a goblin to death.

Goblins, however, were present in more than just stone images. On the surface, a goblin ambush sprang from the forest: spearmen led by a lasher. They immediately slew the remaining woodcrafter, the dwarf who had been the refugee from The Swine-Deeps. An apprentice armorsmith hastily took up the artifact mace and attempted to engage the goblins, but she was easily overcome by their numbers and fell dead.

With no remaining militia, the dwarves ran underground in confusion. Alas, there was no refuge to be found there, for another beast appeared in the caverns.

A gigantic eyeless turkey with a single spiraled horn, belching and croaking. The monstrosity bore a single, envenoming stinger. The marksdwarf, slayer of the bristleworm, engaged the beast.

The marksdwarf sank a couple of wooden bolts into the body of the turkey, and then the beast was upon him. It knocked the dwarf onto the ground, and struck at him wildly. The marksdwarf rolled across the ground, dodging the attacks, still firing his crossbow and sinking bolts into the monster. The prone dwarf could not dodge indefinitely, however, and the turkey gored his arm with its massive horn. The dwarf dropped his shield. He landed one final bolt, and then the turkey bit down upon the injured arm, and tore it completely free of the dwarf’s body. In an astonishing act of fortitude, the dwarf managed to scramble to his feet and flee. The turkey, extensively injured from the rain of wooden bolts, dragged itself among the bedroom cave formations, panicking the already confused civilians.

Meanwhile, the goblin squad had entered the fortress stairwell, and was charging toward the populated cavern. With no other militia, the miners ran to engage them. The first miner, perhaps disastrously confused by her new military orders, had stripped completely naked and carried neither shield nor mining pick. The goblin spearmen easily struck her down. The second miner was also naked, but she was at least armed with her pick and carries a shield, and she tore into the goblin squad. The years of mining had left her musclebound and of boundless constitution, and her first blow immediately severed the leg of a goblin. She swung her weapon with extraordinary speed, mauling goblins left and right before they could even strike. Several more fell dead, and the remaining goblins fled back up the stairs, across the marble walkway to the surface, and disappeared back into the woods.

On the surface, the annual caravan from the mountainhome appeared in the distance, but the traders themselves were also immediately beset by goblins. The attackers slew several merchants and draft animals before the caravan guard could retaliate. Several goblins then fell under the assault of the caravan guard, and the survivors fled. The merchants had seen enough, however, and the caravan immediately turned away from Feverdrink and disappeared.

Meanwhile, the wounded turkey-beast was still prowling the bedrooms. The child who made the bone spear emerged from a room directly beside the turkey, and it snatched him up and tore him apart.

The marksdwarf was still in the hospital, getting his arm socket stitched and staunched. The surviving miner had also sustained injuries in her battle with the goblins: a cut toe. She lay on a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, while the doctors examined the wound. The marksdwarf decided he had had enough of the medical nonsense, and rose from his bed. In his one hand he wielded his crossbow, and sprinted back to battle.

His first shot landed true, and penetrated the turkey’s lungs. He unloaded the rest of his quiver as the mangled bird-beast dragged itself towards him. He ran out of bolts as the turkey entered melee range, and as it snatched at him he hammered it again and again with the butt of his crossbow. Ineffectually. Finally, the miner’s toe was successfully sewn closed, and she herself rose from the bed and arrived on scene. She raised her pick and mauled the beast again and again, her tool tearing its endless flesh and drawing its attention away from the marksdwarf. Finally, the monstrous turkey could no longer withstand the suffocating effects of the bolt lodged in its lungs, and it fell dead.

At long last, all immediate threats had been cleared from Feverdrink. The situation was dire; the population had fallen to 44 dwarves, twelve of which were children. Despair and anger washed over the survivors, and several tantrumed intermittently. Items and corpses were scattered throughout the fortress and across the surface, and many civilian jobs were unfilled. The militia had been utterly crushed. The dwarves began the nigh-endless task of trying to restore order.

Winter fell, and it blessedly passed without incident.

• 23 Apr 2013

Feverdrink: Year 6

Dwarven calendar year: 133

In early spring, the fortress weaponsmith gave birth to a baby girl. The baby had sepia skin like the rest of her family, and her hair was kept clean-shaven, a style the mother also preferred for her own hair. The weaponsmith was now 33 years old. She was skinny for a dwarf, with narrow, raw umber eyes. Her nose had a concave bridge and was slightly upturned, and her skin was beginning to show some fine wrinkles. She had become a skilled smith, and was the creator of all weapons and armor wielded by the militia of Feverdrink. This included the steel equipment of her husband, who served as an axe-dwarf in the fortress militia.

A crude, unfinished engraving of the weaponsmith:

In addition to the baby, the weaponsmith and her husband had four other children. One was a three-year-old son who was already quite strong and agile, despite his young age. He will probably grow to follow his father into service with the fortress militia. They had a second young son who is two years old, who was not as athletic as his brother but showed signs of great endurance. He had a shaved head and raw umber eyes like his mother. The couple also had a thirteen-year-old daughter who worked as a bowyer in Feverdrink, but she had perished in the attack by the pterosaur-beast. She was the dwarf who fell off of the catwalk and drowned. The bowyer was thin like her mother and enjoyed mead like her father. She detested jumping spiders, but ironically died in the same waters as the giant jumping spider that had perished while defending the fortress from the newt-beast. Finally, the couple had an adult son who lived elsewhere. The dwarves of Feverdrink knew little about him.

The family lived in a modest bedroom, carved alongside others in a single large cavern formation. It lay to the west of the activity center of the fortress. The room was near the goat pasture, and on the edge of the subterranean lake. Nearby was the site of the bloody battle between the giant jumping spider and the newt-beast, where the water was still stained with blood.

The population of the fortress stood at 78, seventeen of which were children of varying ages. Several children who immigrated to the fortress with family members had already grown to adulthood at Feverdrink. All of the current children were born at the fortress; a handful were already four years old, and will reach adulthood at six.

Deeper into the spring, a carpenter became possessed. He created a bed of goblin-cap wood. Not particularly fancy, but it was at least useful.

Meanwhile, the dwarves who worked in food and animal processing were extensively overhauling the main living area. Coffins that had been hastily placed were carried up to a marble quarry where a mausoleum was being planned, the farm-related workshops were torn down and rebuilt in a more organized fashion, the dining hall was redesigned and moved to the south of the main cavern, the hospital was expanded and given its own small wing, and the food and drink supplies were organized and moved downstairs.

In the late spring, the elves arrived from the northeast, coming in along the beach.

The militia were already moving into position to guard the visitors, when someone discovered a goblin ambush near the depot. It was a squad of spearmen led by a bowman, and the leader shot a mason in the leg as the civilians fled underground. A spearman ran down the hobbling dwarf and slew him. The fortress militia arrived at full charge and set upon the goblin spearman, which blocked several blows with its copper shield before being struck down. The mace-dwarf bashed another spearman in the arm with her artifact weapon, breaking the bone, and the goblin dropped its spear. An axe-dwarf decapitated it. As the melee continued, an axe-dwarf and spear-dwarf fell into a small pond, but amazingly did not drown and were able to climb out.

Another axe-dwarf finally slew the bowman leader, and the militia finished off the rest of the goblins.

Immediately after, another goblin ambush sprang from hiding: pikemen led by an axeman. The militia, alas, had already gone back underground to drink after their victory. The goblins ran down and slew the fortress logger and a jeweler, and looked for the next victim. A single dwarf emerged to face them: a lone axe-dwarf, the most experienced member of the militia, who had been named Champion of Feverdrink by the Baron. The champion engaged the entire squad of goblins alone.

He immediately lopped off the leg of the first goblin, and the severed limb sailed into the pit left from the plugging of the aquifer. Three goblins stabbed at him: two missed him completely, and he parried the third with his shield. He counterstruck and sliced off the foot of another goblin. It collapsed before him. A goblin stabbed at the champion from behind, but the blow was misdirected by his cloak. He dispatched the fallen goblin with a kick to the head. A pikeman thrust its weapon into the champion’s back, but his steel mail held. The axeman leader of the goblin squad swung his weapon, but the champion dodged down a slope, and then stepped back up and used his own axe to sever the leader’s leg.

Finally, another of the axe-dwarves arrived: the husband of the weaponsmith. He shredded one of the pikemen. Two goblins remained alive: a pikeman, and the axeman leader. The leader was trying to crawl away with his single leg, and the axe-dwarf administered a coup de grace. The last pikeman was uninjured and fleeing at a full run. The two dwarves pursued, but the goblin escaped.

The mason who died in the ambush was the husband of one of the spear-dwarves, and she mourned his death. The rest of the militia watched her carefully, but it appeared her sanity would remain intact.

The elves had been protected, and finally trade proceeded. The bookkeeper took all of their wine and cloth, as well as some berries and thread. She eagerly made a purchase from their menagerie: a second giant dingo, this one a female. The beasts were powerful and as large as bears, and now the dwarves had a breeding pair.

As the year advanced, the Baron and Mayor issued various mandates for the production of items that they preferred: usually cabinets for the Baron, and armor stands for the Mayor. The carpenters and masons easily fulfilled their whims. The goat herd had grown seemingly endless, and the chef continued to busily cook them up.

Late in the summer, a quite unexpected enemy arrived.

It was the humans. Their troop of crossbowmen, led by a hammerman astride a camel, approached from the northeast and marched towards the fortress. The dwarves abandoned their outdoor work and clambered inside. With no vulnerable targets in sight, the humans surveyed the terrain. They declined to attempt an invasion of the fortress interior, and set up a patient siege on the surface. The diplomat they had sent the previous year had been murdered by the goblins, and apparently the human leaders lay the blame on the dwarves of Feverdrink.

They would not bring the battle down into the caverns, and the dwarven militia would not survive charging the crossbowmen across open ground outdoors. A stalemate.

By autumn, the situation on the surface was unchanged. Underground, however, a deadly foe emerged from the caverns: another atavistic terror from the early days of creation. A beast in the form of a bird of prey bearing insectoid antennae, with fire burning in its belly.

It flew over the lake, thunderous wings beating in the darkness. It closed upon the goat pasture, and coming over a low rise in the cavern floor it met the militia of Feverdrink. A spear-dwarf lunged at the monster, and it dodged the blow and summoned from its throat a great gout of flame. An inferno of fire and smoke streaked across the cavern, catching all in its wake.

The militia cowered behind their shields but three of the dwarves were now aflame. The cavern plants were burning, the goats panicking. The beast spat burning globs at fleeing dwarves, who choked in the dense smoke as they ran. But the will of one was unbroken; the champion axe-dwarf, consumed in agony as he burned, charged the monster. They were surrounded by walls of spreading fire, but the champion sank his weapon into the beast. And again. It snatched at him with its talons, but his armor held. It roared forth another stream of flame, again consuming the dwarf and setting several goats alight. The flesh of the champion charred and boiled, but with one last mighty stroke his axe blade fell upon the creature and passed through its neck, and the head fell to the cavern floor. The beast was defeated.

The surviving goats fled their burning pasture, but many now lay as corpses. The wildfire swept through the cavern, and eventually died in narrow passways through the stone. It did not reach the civilian areas.

Three members of the militia were dead of burning, including the champion axe-dwarf, the pride and hero of Feverdrink. He had personally dealt the lethal blow against thirty-five hostile creatures in his service defending the fortress.

Physically he was unmatched in strength, agility, and fortitude, and was easily recognizable with a long, braided moustache and beard that was the color of cinnamon. He was known for his unlikely fondness for cavies because of their adorable calls, and his detestation of fire snakes, which perhaps turned out to be prescient. He had no family in the fortress, but was laid to rest in a golden sarcophagus alongside his fellows.

Three new recruits were drafted into the militia to replace those fallen, though the recruits had little battle experience. Every adult dwarf in the fortress now worked in an important trade or trained for military service, so additional losses would be difficult to absorb. It would still be some time before the children born in Feverdrink began to come of age.

By mid-winter, the human siege was no longer the only threat on the surface:

A minotaur. Alas, it approached from a direction opposite the humans, and it did not attack them. The humans cowered in the distance as the minotaur approached, and they watched it tear down the trade depot bare-handed. Then it entered the fortress.

The militia was scrambling to engage the monster before it could reach civilian centers, but only a single axe-dwarf was in position to intercept the minotaur as it passed through an underground quarry: the husband of the weaponsmith. They had just welcomed a baby daughter in the spring. The hulking, bull-headed creature spied the axe-dwarf as he stood alone. The beast charged. The dwarf swung his battleaxe, but the minotaur caught his arm in its mighty fist, and twisted the limb until it shattered. The minotaur gored him in the guts, and he fell over. The monster stood over him as he lay helpless, reached down and tore off the dwarf’s cloak, and crushed it into his chest, shattering his ribs.

Upon this scene two other axe-dwarves finally arrived, and immediately they attacked the minotaur. The beast met their challenge and gored them and beat them, avoiding all of their desperate blows. Its horns tore open the leg of one, who was flung aside and impacted a wall. The other axe-dwarf finally struck true and sliced open the monster’s leg. She swung her battleaxe again and again, but the minotaur kept knocking her down and dodging her blows. Then she sliced it twice in the arm, and chopped her blade deeply into its leg. The minotaur toppled over. Another swing of her blade severed the beast’s arm, and blood gushed out into the dark quarry. She swung again and again, tireless, and the minotaur rolled across the floor to avoid her blade. It tumbled down the stairs, and she pursued. The axe-dwarf came upon the stricken creature on the floor below, and she approached it. It still lived, but was now too weak to lift its murderous horns. She raised her battleaxe, and clove it downward and split the minotaur’s skull. Feverdrink had its new champion.

The axe-dwarf with the gored leg was treated by the doctors, who stitched up his wound with draltha hair, and affixed a splint to the arm broken when he hit the wall. The husband of the weaponsmith, however, was dead. He was 34 years old at the time of his heroic demise. In life he liked orpiment and billion, and admired the stature of humans. He preferred to drink mead, which he never had the opportunity to taste while living at Feverdrink. The dwarves carried him to his golden sarcophagus; the fortress already had so many. The dead of Feverdrink now rested in a mausoleum carved into a marble quarry.

The humans still held the surface. The fortress mechanics and a few workers ventured out into the cold to try to rig some traps near the entrance. Soon the humans spotted them, and the dwarves fled back inside. An errant child had wandered too far away. Merciless, the humans fired their crossbows and the child fell dead. The time for a peaceful solution had ended.

A few dwarves moved back to the surface to taunt the siegers. The humans pushed forward to see what other innocent blood they could spill. As the humans entered crossbow range, the dwarves sprinted back to the fortress entrance. One mason was slower than the rest, and a crossbow bolt caught him in the leg and he fell over. He crawled forward, and the humans close in on him. And then, snap snap snap snap: four of the bowmen were caught in the cage traps that had been rigged by the mechanics. The humans loosed their crossbows and slew the crawling mason, but they dared not approach the fortress entrance. Still unwilling to give up the siege, they retreated back to their camp in the northeast, but now Feverdrink had prisoners.

As the year closed, a small flock of elk birds wandered into the populated cavern, frightening the civilians as well as themselves. In the turmoil, a butcher on the catwalk over the lake dove out of the way of a rushing elk bird, and fell into the water and drowned.

It had been a costly year for Feverdrink, but the strength of the dwarves held fast.

• 6 Apr 2013

Feverdrink: Year 5

Dwarven calendar year: 132

The vulture-beast dropped from its perch in the lower caverns. It flew up the stairs, and its emergence into the bustling center of Feverdrink sent civilians scurrying in panic. It spat frozen globs at fleeing dwarves, striking several but causing only minor injuries. It chased a mason into a storage room, and there the militia cornered it. A hammer-dwarf recruit bashed it over, and the veteran axe-dwarf swung his weapon and opened several wounds. The vulture-beast spat more globs at its attackers, but the dwarves nimbly dodged or blocked the frozen pellets with their shields. One struck an axe-dwarf in the head, but it deflected off of his steel helm. Finally, the veteran axe-dwarf severed the monster’s leg, and it bled out and died.

Later in the season, the elves arrived to trade. The militia went out to guard the depot, and as expected a goblin ambush appeared. The goblins sprang from hiding and attacked and killed the fortress’s best animal trainer, and the militia charged. A veteran hammer-dwarf arrived first, bashed in a goblin’s head, and entered a martial trance. He struck another goblin in the chest, breaking its ribs and driving the bones through its heart. An axe-dwarf arrived and commenced lopping off limbs. The goblins broke off the attack and attempted to flee, but the dwarves showed no mercy. The hammer-dwarf ran down a straggler and slew it. The axe-dwarf knocked down the last goblin, kicked out its teeth, and then decapitated it.

The elves were unscathed, and trading went well. Feverdrink obtained several barrels of wine and some cloth, a potentially breeding pair of skunks, and a monstrous giant dingo. In return, the elves accepted a huge quantity of worn-out dwarven clothing. Perhaps they plan on opening a second-hand store back in the forest. The bookkeeper also gave them a quantity of stone mugs for free, since she knew they loved mugs.

Meanwhile, the dwarves debated what to do with their prisoners. In addition to the goblins trapped in the sieges of the previous year, several goblin thieves had stumbled into cages and were likewise awaiting their fate. The miners had completed the long garbage chute, which began just below the aquifer near the surface and stretched downward through the earth, eventually opening above the magma sea. The dwarves had already used it to dump a large quantity of excess stone, which fell down through the abyss, splashed safely into the magma, and disappeared into the bowels of the earth. Perhaps it would serve as an efficient execution shaft, as well.

The caged goblins were assembled at an access point, and some members of the militia gathered to provide security and to observe the proceedings. Worker dwarves pulled the goblins from the cages, dragged them to the open maw of the pit, and hurled them over the edge. They hurtled down through empty space. At the bottom, the goblins impacted the surface of the magma and sank from sight, and a bright cloud of molten mist rose. Sacrifices to Armok. Operation successful, the worker dwarves stacked the cages, and the militia went back to training.

Above:

Below:

Immediately afterwards, a goblin child-snatcher stole away the baby from the replacement animal trainer, who was working on the surface. The conflict with the goblins was only escalating.

As summer arrived, the miners were at work deep beneath the surface, digging out the structure of an elaborate, top-secret, and highly experimental trap. Later in the season, a human diplomat arrived.  He was immediately beset by a goblin ambush and slain. The militia rallied and clashed with the squad of goblin spearmen, but as the battle raged a new threat appeared in the forest.

A wereporcupine. Now you will know why you fear the night! The dwarves had slaughtered most of the goblins, and the survivors fled towards the forest. The wereporcupine raced after the goblins, and the militia chased the wereporcupine. As the pursuit went on, however, the moon began to shift out of phase. Soon, it was not a twisted, humanoid porcupine running after the goblins, but a naked dwarf. The goblins disappeared from sight, and the confused and embarrassed dwarf was herself now fleeing for her life. The pursuing militia caught up and struck her down. Despite her were-curse she was still a dwarf, and the inhabitants of Feverdrink carried her body deep within the fortress, and placed her to rest in a coffin.

Some weeks later, the giant kea were outside again. One managed to snatch up the artifact cap that had been made from the skin of one of the newt-beasts. The dwarves cursed their longtime tormentors, and swore that the next raid would not go so easily for the birds. Normally, the dwarves of Feverdrink were loathe to take up weapons that killed from a distance, preferring to face their foes in personal battle, or to defeat them by means of cunning engineering. The militia was near powerless to ward off the flying kea, though. A hunter took up a crossbow and a quiver of wooden bolts. During the next giant kea attack, perhaps he would be able to shoot the birds out of the air, and allow the militia to engage on the ground.

Down below, the weaponsmith became possessed, and headed to the forges. As she gathered up materials, another forgotten beast appeared.

A huge pterosaur with a shell and poisonous blood. It arrived in the cavern that contained the fortress proper of Feverdrink, flew over the subterranean lake, and attacked a mason who was walking along a catwalk to her bedroom. The mason fled, and a veteran hammer-dwarf arrived and battled the pterosaur on the narrow walkway. They tumbled down a ramp into a workshop area. The beast caught the hammer-dwarf’s leg, bent the joint in an unnatural direction, and shattered her hip. The beast grabbed the dwarf’s head in its jaws, shook the dwarf about, and flung her into a wall. The hammer-dwarf fell to the ground, dead.

The pterosaur flew back up to the catwalk, and pursued a bowyer over the lake. The bowyer dove to avoid the attack, but fell off of the catwalk and into the water. Far from the edge, she sank and drowned. The beast wheeled around and set off after a smelter, who fled back towards the common area. They passed by a miner, who sank his mining pick into the body of the creature as it passed. The pterosaur halted its pursuit and turned on the miner, who mauled it again and again with his tool, and then fled. The pterosaur was injured but still deadly, and it spotted the smelter re-emerging from a building, caught up with the dwarf, and tore him apart. It continued to limp along the catwalk, looking for more victims.

Finally, two spear-dwarves from the militia arrived at the scene: a new recruit, and the blind veteran. The beast knocked down the recruit, and then caught a passing bonecrafter by the arm. The bonecrafter punched, but his blows glanced off of the creature’s shell. The recruit got back to her feet and stabbed her steel spear into the beast’s body, again and again. She was still inexpert, and her weapon slid through skin and fat, failing to reach any vital organs. The pterosaur crushed the bonecrafter’s head in its jaws. Finally, a blow from the spear-dwarf cracked the beast’s shell, and another thrust sank deeply into its leg, further crippling it. A hammer-dwarf entered the battle, but he inexplicably was not carrying his hammer, or most of his armor. Perhaps caught at a bad time. He slammed his shield into the creature, and at last the spear-dwarf struck true. Her spear penetrated the forgotten beast’s heart, and it died. Blood was everywhere, and it covered the hammer-dwarf and the spear-dwarf recruit.

On their way to clean themselves, the two dwarves began to feel nauseous. Fever overcame them. A few steps later, both fell over with complete paralysis, the poisonous blood doing its vile work. Other dwarves hurried to bring them to the doctors, but they perished on the way. They could not breathe while paralyzed, and died of suffocation.

Immediately after, a construction accident claimed the life of a miner. While he was working rapidly on the trap project, the area of stone on which he stood was mined out beneath his feet. He toppled down into the magma sea, and was swallowed into the molten mass with no trace left behind. He was one of the seven original dwarves of Feverdrink, and a slab was inscribed and in his honor.

There was, however, reason for joy: the possessed weaponsmith completed her work. She triumphantly unveiled “Weepabyss the Myth of Muscle,” an artifact steel mace. It was encrusted with pyrites and gabbro, and bore hanging rings of cave spider silk and spikes of green zircon. An excellent weapon.

The military had taken casualties, and it was time for a reorganization. Two recruits were drafted: a trainee hammer-dwarf and a trainee mace-dwarf. The mace-dwarf was given the honor of wielding Weepabyss, and they began training in earnest. The blind spear-dwarf, meanwhile, was relieved of regular squad duty. The Baron promoted her to lead the justice system of Feverdrink, as both Captain of the Guard and as executioner. Everyone hoped that her blindness would cause her to be encouragingly ineffective at the latter role. The miners carved out a private bedroom and office for her, immediately adjacent to a new prison space. The metalsmiths created some iron chains, which were installed against the walls.

Outside, the carvan from the Mountainhome arrived for trade. The caravan was immediately beset by a goblin ambush: lashers, axemen, and spearmen. The goblins struck down one of the merchants, but were quickly dispatched by the caravan guard. The wagons made their way to the depot, but after the death of their colleague, the other merchants seemed unwilling to trade.

The Mountainhome liason, however, met with the Baron in his office. The liason informed him that due to the expanding wealth and influence of Feverdrink, the fortress and surround lands were now elevated to a County in the eyes of the monarch.

The dwarves were quite proud. At the same time, however, goblin snatchers yanked children out of the arms of two dwarves on the surface, and disappeared into the forest. There was still much to be done to quell the goblin threat.

Winter advanced, and no goblin siege came. A new monster did appear, however, as a hulking cyclops came down from the mountains to assault the fortress.

The civilians working on the surface scrambled for the fortress entrance, and the newly-reorganized militia raced into position. The cyclops emerged from the forest and knocked down an old fishery workshop that was still standing. It turned back towards the fortress, and came face to face with the militia. The mace-dwarf wielding Weepabyss thunked the weapon into the flesh of the cyclops, causing only bruises but keeping the monster at bay. An axe-dwarf engaged and hacked away at the cyclops, and it fell under their combined blows. The mace and the axe sank into its body again and again, but the hardy creature would not die. A hammer-dwarf joined the melee. Weepabyss crushed into the cyclops’s head again and again, fracturing the skull. At last, a spear-dwarf was able to spike her weapon through the weakened skull and through the brain. The cyclops was dead.

Beneath the surface, there was more violence. The goat herd was now pastured in the cavern, and had been happily eating cave plants for many months. Their numbers had exploded, however, and they grew cramped and irritable in the confined space. They fought amongst each other, kicking and headbutting. Goat teeth scattered along the floor, and blood from skin wounds splattered the cavern walls. The dwarves built a second butcher workshop, and started hauling goats off for slaughter. Their hides were tanned for leather, their bones fashioned into decorations for furniture, and their meats cooked into meals. With their numbers thinned, the violence in the herd subsided.

Meanwhile, an engraver had been training his skill for several months by smoothing cavern walls and floors, and he decided to attempt his first true works of art. Along the walls of the rooms of the Baron and the Mayor, he carved several dozen images. Several images depicted past mayors getting elected and then falling out of office. One image was of thick crescents, which was the symbol for the The Salty Dirge, the dwarves who inhabit Feverdrink. Several images showed an animal trap, which was the symbol for The Lash of Trotting, the parent Mountainhome civilization. One particularly detailed engraving was of a goblin in a fetal position being encased in ice, relating to the previous year’s siege in which many goblins drowned, and during which a nearshore portion of the ocean froze.

No siege came this year. As the spring arrived, the dwarves hastened their preparations for the threats that the coming seasons would bring.

• 30 Mar 2013

Feverdrink: Year 4

Dwarven calendar year: 131

The dwarves completed the magma forges by early spring. The sculpted pool provided dwarfy ambiance, and channeled molten rock flowed through it to power the kiln. The other workshops sat directly over the magma sea.

Above:

Below:

Someone spotted a cave crocodile in the cavern lake. It lurked in the water directly below where the masons were building a marble walkway around the well platform, and the stoneworkers scattered in fright. Tame cave crocodiles would be a formidable defense against invaders, so the dwarves resolved to capture it in hopes that a breeding partner could later be caught as well. The croc made no move to approach the fortress, and so a mechanic ventured close to the shore. In a narrow passage by the water, he began working a mechanism into the structure for a cage trap, perhaps able to snag the beast as it climbed out of the water. As he worked, the croc suddenly torpedoed in his direction, and burst from the lake. The miner fled, but the croc ran him down and quickly mauled the dwarf to death.

The cave crocodile, now lusting for the taste of more dwarf blood, charged towards the inhabited portion of the cavern. It wound its way among the rock formations, and ran directly into a cage trap. The device snapped shut around the animal. The dwarves lay the mechanic to rest in a golden coffin, and installed the caged crocodile at the entrance of the dining hall. Impressed by its lethality, the bestowed upon it a name: “Kengison.”

Meanwhile, the miners were digging a long, deep shaft that stretched from storage areas near the surface all the way to the magma sea. It would be a garbage chute, and the dwarves would be well protected from the splashing magma that had caused the collapse of The Swine-Deeps.

On the surface, the elves arrived to trade. In exchange for more stone mugs, they parted with barrels of wine and a couple of tame exotic animals, including a truly gigantic jumping spider which was over three times as large as a dwarf.

A fishery worker was caught up in a fey mood, and created yet another artifact coffin. This one, made of kea bone, was named “Smiledstrapped the Revered Gill,” and bore bone decorations depicting a historical event. Finely wrought upon it was an image of dwarves laughing, which related to the defeat of The Flies of Cooperating and pillaging of Strokednightmares by The Lash of Trotting in the late summer of 56, during The Fifth Pillaging of Strokednightmares. Year 56 was well before the founding of Feverdrink, and the nature of the inhabitants of Strokednightmares is unclear. They apparently suffered much pillaging by the armies of the Mountainhome, though.

In the summer, another forgotten beast emerged in the cavern, and again it was in the form of a newt. This one had stingers on its triple tails, and bore gray hair. Like the other newt, it slipped into the cavern pool and lurked quietly.

The militia stationed nearby, but the monster would not emerge. They were fearful of moving closer, for fear that a battle could cause them to fall into the lake and drown. They formulated an alternative strategy: deploy the giant jumping spider. A worker began leading the massive spider to the edge of the lake. But, as the worker and spider approached the lakeside, the militia caught wind of other news: a new set of high-quality cloaks had been produced by the tailor. The militia immediately abandoned their post to go change clothes, and the spider engaged the forgotten beast alone.

The fearsome newt immediately kicked the spider in the cephalothorax, and it fell into the water. The newt attacked again, but the spider deftly dodged and sank its fangs into the newt’s soft flesh, tearing muscle and skin. The newt attacked fiercely, but the agile spider avoided all blows and landed bite after bite, and the water flowed red with newt blood. One bite sank deeply and bruised the newt’s heart, but then the newt jabbed one of its stingers into the body of the giant jumping spider. The venom rushed into the spider’s body, and it began to slow. It still continued to tear apart the newt’s skin, and the forgotten beast was now covered in wounds. The spider, however, was rapidly weakening. Finally, the newt caught the spider’s head in its jaws, clamped them shut, and smushed the spider’s brain. The corpse of the giant jumping spider lay motionless in the water.

But by now, the military had returned. With fancy new cloaks. The newt sprang to attack a hammer-dwarf, but the beast was already ailing from the battle with the spider. The dwarf bashed the hairy newt over and over, having trouble damaging the bones of such a monstrous creature. At last, she managed to bruise one of its lungs, and it gasped for air. It’s blood tricked out, and then it died.

The hammer-dwarf was not unscathed. Her hand was covered with familiar rot and swelling: the same symptoms of contact with the gopher-beast’s breath. A small patch of the lake still bore contamination from the gopher’s breath, and perhaps the newt had encountered it in the water and was likewise contaminated, and spread it to the dwarf. A doctor washed the hand and excised the affected tissue, and the hammer-dwarf returned to training.

In the summer, the dwarves awaited the coming of the human caravan. Weeks passed, and they spotted figures moving in the distance. However, it was not the humans who had come.

A brazen attack on Feverdrink by a goblin civilization. They came in only a single squad, but still a terrifying threat to Feverdrink, which had only its tiny militia and no prepared defenses. Fifteen goblin bowmen marched in on foot, led by a goblin pikeman riding astride a giant olm. In open ground, the bowmen would easily slaughter the melee-combat dwarven militia, and the civilians would be helpless.

Two immigrants with military training hastily joined the militia, taking up silver warhammers and incomplete sets of low-quality armor. The civilians fled down to the cavern, and the militia ascended the staircase. Perhaps they could lay an ambush in the storage room just below the surface, and attack the goblin bowmen at close range as they entered the fortress. Despite their bravery, the militia held little hope. They numbered only six, the recruits were missing pieces of armor, and the spear-dwarf was blind. The fifteen goblin bowmen were lethal on their own, and the pikeman on his giant olm was likely to be a highly skilled warrior. They awaited their doom.

And then, an unlikely salvation appeared from the heavens. A flock of giant kea appeared, and descended upon the goblins as they marched to the fortress entrance. Swooping into the midst of the goblins, the birds snatched bundles of arrows out of their quivers, and clutching their prizes they sped off toward the horizon. The goblins milled in confusion, but seemed unable to retaliate. Two kea flew off with goblin arrows. Another. And another. They disappeared into the distance, and left nine of the fifteen bowmen with no arrows at all.

The militia’s hearts quickened with hope of repelling the attack!

The goblins pressed the attack despite the setback. They swarmed down the fortress staircase, the arrowless bowmen wielding their metal bows like cudgels, and the pikeman skittering along on his olm. When they came upon the ambush in the storeroom, it was the pikeman who entered first.

The olm immediately knocked down one of the new recruits, and the bowmen rushed in behind. The pikeman stabbed his weapon into the prone recruit. The axe-dwarf engaged, and lopped off a bowman’s arm. He swung his weapon with abandon, rending surprised foes left and right. The injured recruit fell unconscious, and a goblin bashed its bow clubwise into the dwarf’s head again and again, the blows ringing futilely off of the his steel helm. The veteran hammers crushed skulls and limbs, and the goblin pikeman drove his weapon into the other recruit, who fell dead.

The blind spear-dwarf, meanwhile, was fighting enthusiastically. She flailed about with her weapon with great gusto, hitting nothing at all. Amazingly, her high-quality armor and shield deflected the attacks aimed against her. A veteran hammerer bit into a goblin’s foot, and shook the creature violently until an artery opened, and then she bashed it dead with her weapon. The giant olm attacked her and knocked her down, but it was quickly disemboweled by the axe-dwarf. A goblin punched the blind spear-dwarf in the eye, to no effect. Then the goblin grabbed her shield and wrestled it away. An iron arrow hit her in the arm, but the goblin who fired it was swept up in the melee.

Many goblins were dead, but three of the survivors, including the pikeman, disengaged from the battle and rushed down the stairs towards where the civilians huddled in the dining hall. The goblins entered the last corridor, and came upon one of the veteran hammer-dwarves standing there. She was injured, and had lost her hammer. One of the bowmen engaged her as the others rushed past towards the cavern. Gamely, the wounded dwarf met her attacker head-on and bashed it in the guts with her shield. The goblin retched, and she bashed it in the legs. The goblin collapsed, and she bashed it again. She was exhausted and had lost much blood, but she weakly slammed her shield into the goblin again and again.

Below, the pikeman and an arrowless bowman entered the dining hall, and the civilian dwarves fled in terror, scattering throughout the cavern. The goblins gave chase, and the bowman promptly ran directly into a cage trap, and was rendered contained and helpless. The pikeman, rushing headlong through the narrow corridors, met the same fate. These had been a small handful of traps built by the mechanics to protect the dwarves from cavern wildlife, but they had now protected them from a surface threat. The only surviving goblin was the crippled wretch that was still being feebly bashed by the wounded dwarf. The other veteran hammer-dwarf walked up, and brained the creature.

The injured soldiers were carried to the hospital, and the dwarves set about cleaning the debris. Outside, another flock of giant kea appeared. The birds had been annoying in the past, but their theft of the goblins’ arrows had probably saved Feverdrink. The dwarves decided to leave them unmolested. But then, one of the birds dove upon a miner who was hauling a goblin corpse outside. The miner dodged the attack, and sank his pick into one of the giant bird’s wings. The kea quickly slung its other wing around the miner’s throat, putting him in a chokehold. The miner sputtered, and passed out. The kea kept its grip tight, and the miner fell dead. He was one of the original seven founders of Feverdrink.

The dwarves raged as the flock of giant kea flew out of sight, but already there was other movement on the horizon. Another siege had come.

Approaching from the northeast were many dozens of foes, grouped into multiple squads. Goblin axemen and goblin lashers, all of them riding giant olms and cave crocodiles. A battle-hardened spearmaster and macelord led their ranks. From the west, a crowd of hulking trolls pushed past the trees and strode towards the entrance of Feverdrink.

It was only fortune that had just saved Feverdrink from a much smaller force, and now most of the militia lay recuperating in hospital beds. The dwarves held a panicked counsel. Should they abandon the fortress, flee into the forest, and hope to start anew elsewhere? Should they attempt to seal themselves into the depths of Feverdrink, and wait out the siege? Perhaps the masons would not be able to seal the entrance corridor in time, and all dwarves would fall before the invaders as they huddled, trapped in the cavern. Even if the operation were successful, perhaps starvation would set in before farming could be expanded enough to support the entire population for the months of confinement. Despite the risks, the dwarves chose the latter option.

The civilians came rushing into the depths, but already the trolls were upon them. A troll gored a stoneworker to death, and kicked a dog against a wall. Two other dwarves fell dead to the trolls. While the masons worked frantically on sealing the tunnel far below, the uninjured veteran hammer-dwarf raced up to meet the monsters to buy some time. His mighty hammer crushed the skull of one troll, and it fell. The other trolls grasped at him with their huge palms, and thrust at him with their tusks, but he was strapped with muscle and was nimble in his armor, and dodged all. He slammed his weapon into their ribs, into their legs. They gasped for breath as their ribs cracked, and buckled as their legs were broken. Three trolls fell dead before the dread hammer-dwarf, and the remaining beasts turned and fled, leaving the goblins to fight their own battle.

The dwarves continued to seek shelter inside, as the goblins and their monstrous mounts still numbered near eighty. The goblins, however, were beset by yet another unexpected problem. They had ridden their water-loving olms and crocodiles along the shoreline of the ocean, and it appeared that many of the olms and crocodiles had, of their own volition, chosen to take a shortcut, directly across a small bay. The goblins astride the beasts, however, were not nearly as aquatic as their mounts. The goblins quickly drowned, even as more mounts piled their riders into the ocean behind them.

Disheartened and humiliated, the remaining goblins abandoned the attack, and disappeared back from whence they came.

Twice now the fates had spared Feverdrink from defeat, and the lesson was learned. The fortress was far too vulnerable, and would surely fall under the next attack if improvements were not made. Two more dwarves were recruited into the militia, and were given axes. The smiths set about creating better-quality weapons and armor. Furnace operators toiled to smelt more ore. The miners and the fortress leadership, meanwhile, discussed possibilities for more elaborate structural defenses. More elaborate indeed.

In the deep winter, a new beast appeared in a lower cavern. An immense and bony vulture, with blue feathers and poison spit. The militia prepared for battle, but the beast remained content to stalk about the cavern and not approach the fortress. The militia would watch it closely.

On the surface, masons toiled away at improvements to the entrance of Feverdrink. They were the first to greet the dawning of the spring, and they knew their luck to be alive to see it.

• 26 Mar 2013

Feverdrink: Year 3

Dwarven calendar year: 130

The glassmaker paced madly in the dining hall, but the dwarves completed her workshop before the possession drove her insane. She set to work, and created “The Fortress of Dells,” a green glass bracelet. It was encircled with bands of point cut green glass gems, pear cut pinfire opals, fungiwood, and sheep wool. It bore hanging rings of elk bird leather, and carefully worked onto the bracelet in sheep wool was an image of forgotten beasts.

Meanwhile, the miners had nearly completed the excavations of the hall that would house the magma forges. They hollowed out tunnels underneath to channel the molten rock beneath the planned forge sites, and also carved out a space for a scenic magma pool among the workshops, just as had been planned for The Swine-Deeps.

Food and drinks were both running low, and thirsty dwarves drank directly from the subterranean lake. Haulers brought stone down from the marble mines, and masons began work on a platform to hold wells, which would improve the moods of dwarves forced to drink water. A farmer tilled a patch of soil in the cavern, and planted plump helmets.

A miner entered a secretive mood, and claimed a mason’s workshop. She gathered nearby rubble, and constructed an elaborate coffin out of diorite. It was titled “Prowlercrowded,” and indeed it was quite crowded with gemstone decorations.

At the end of spring, the elves arrived. The clothing of many dwarves was beginning to wear out, and the bookkeeper purchased many bins of cloth. The elves brought no drinks, but she obtained some clusters of berries for brewing. The elves also parted with a caged giant sparrow and giant opossum, which could be slaughtered for food. In return, the dwarves of Feverdrink parted with many dozens of exquisite carved stone mugs, for which the elves seemed to have insatiable demand.

Elsewhere on the surface, a long cage trap was consistently catching goblin child-snatchers. Three were now held prisoner, but their fate had yet to be decided.

As summer progressed, a flock of giant kea arrived at the surface, to the consternation of all. They immediately flew to the aboveground stockpiles of furniture and trade goods, and the militia clambered to the surface. The black bear had been chained near the stockpiles, but the kea deftly avoided it as they swarmed. The military arrived, but could only watch helplessly as the birds snatched up several valuables and fled. Among the stolen goods was the artifact green glass bracelet. Lesson learned, the dwarves hauled the trade goods deeper underground.

At the end of the summer, the human caravan arrived. Their wagons had only reached the depot when a squad of goblin bowmen sprang an ambush. Chaos ensued, with the civilian dwarves fleeing and the military racing to engage. The spear-dwarf arrived first and valiantly skewed many goblins, and the human caravan guards provided a hail of their own arrows. The surviving goblins fled, and trade proceeded.

When autumn came, the dwarves spotted a vast beast in the ocean: a single sperm whale.

Belowground, a bonecarver was possessed, and constructed an artifact. It was “The Passage of Wires,” a water buffalo bone amulet. It had bands of elk bird leather, spikes of water buffalo bone, and a gold image of “The Oil of Gliding,” the artifact gold sarcophagus that had been created in The Swine-Deeps.

When the dwarven caravan arrived, the liason brought word that Feverdrink, now populous if not prosperous, was being elevated to a barony of the Mountainhome. The original expedition leader was chosen to hold the position of Baron. As discussions progressed, an unexpected threat emerged in the forest: an ettin had come.

The dwarves shouted for the militia, who were drinking in the dining hall deep beneath the earth. The hulking, two-headed ettin burst from the trees and spotted a fleeing mason. The ettin easily ran down the dwarf and knocked him over. The monster punched the prone mason in the chest, cracking his ribs. It kicked him in the leg, shattering the bones. The ettin grabbed hold of the mason’s cloak, but was interrupted by caravan guard. The guard smashed his bronze mace into the ettin’s arm, cracking the bone, and the monster dropped the dwarf. The guard swung his weapon into the ettin’s leg, and it collapsed. Again and again, the guard beat the mace into the ettin’s chest and head, and at last it lay dead. The mason was in critical condition, and a doctor carried him into the fortress for surgery, sutures, and splints.

At the beginning of winter, the dwarves discovered the immense carcass of the sperm whale. It had apparently beached itself and died. With many days of effort, they hauled it down into the caverns and butchered it. The chef labored among the endless piles of gore.

In the hospital area where the mason was still undergoing treatment, a horrible cloud of miasma was choking the cavern. It is traced to the mason’s cat, whose feet are putrid with rot.

The cause of this was a mystery, until a pool of blood from last year’s giant newt attack was discovered at the surface, near the entrance to the stairwell. The dwarves must have been protected by their shoes, but the cat was barefoot. A mason tiled over the blood. The cat, unfortunately, died.

A clothier became possessed and claimed a forge. She creates “Purplewarmth,” a copper earring. Among other decorations is bears a copper image of Kanil Carnagegroves, a dwarf. She has no relatives or friends by this name, so the significance of Kanil is unknown.

And then, the second forgotten beast to visit Feverdrink was spotted in the cavern. It is a tremendous one-eyed gopher. It has mauve fur and a protective shell, and breathes poisonous vapor.

It shuffled towards the inhabited portion of the cavern, and then slipped into the water. The four-dwarf militia, wary of the poisonous breath, crept among the cave formations as they approached. The gopher-monster did not move, and so the spear-dwarf stepped closer. The beast leapt from the waters and attacked, the spear-dwarf trying to block its breath with her shield. She stabbed it in the guts, and the hammer-dwarves engaged. They bashed their weapons into its legs, and the gopher continued to issue forth gouts of its vapor breath. The hammerers crushed their weapons into its body. At last, a blow from the spear-dwarf pierced its skull, and the beast was dead.

Before the militia could return to the barracks, however, they realized that the plague of the gopher-beast was not over. The spear-dwarf must have been caught in a full blast of the poisonous breath, for her entire body was swollen outside of recognition, tissues already beginning to rot. She collapsed in a cloud of miasma. The doctors came running and carried her to the hospital.

They set to work excising the affected tissue, which was everywhere. Torso, arms, legs, fingers, face. They washed her with soap, and healed the surgical sites as best they could.

And soon, the spear-dwarf stood from the hospital bed. Her body was covered in lasting scars, but she was mobile, and the rot was gone. She was also permanently blind. The spear-dwarf, however, gripped her weapon and felt her way toward the barracks. At the end of the year, she was back in training.

• 21 Mar 2013

Feverdrink: Year 2

Dwarven calendar year: 129

Deep in the cavern, the miners continued to carve hollows into the undulous cavescape. Dwarves picked the wild cave plants, and the brewer distilled the extracts into the strange dwarven wines and ales. The two military dwarves installed a weapon rack and some beds into one of the opened hollows, and set to training.

Unusual creatures twisted by the wild magic in the forest continued to be spotted, but they caused no trouble.

As the miners carved openings into individual stalagmites and other formations, other dwarves moved inside and installed beds, closed off the openings with wooden doors, and began to claim the spaces as individual bedrooms. The fortress proper of Feverdrink was taking shape.

As the dwarves moved into the cavern, the mechanics had set a several cage traps in passages near the main staircase, as the military was unsure whether it could handle the unknown threats of the deep spaces. Some weeks later, a trap was sprung. Cautiously approaching the cage, a dwarf beheld a fearsome sight within: a hulking humanoid creature, with woolly fur and curving tusks. It was a troll. Unsure of what to do with such a beast, the dwarves carried the cage inside, and set it in a corner to await future plans.

Meanwhile, the miners had set to work digging exploratory passages through the rocks, seeking gems and ores. They gleefully reported rich strikes of gold and silver ore, as well as hematite that could be smelted for iron. They encountered layers of marble, which could be used as flux in the production of steel.

The expedition leader was ousted from the mayoral position as the dwarves elected the fortress chef in his stead. The expedition leader, by now a highly skilled carpenter, continued to craft bins, barrels, wooden shields, and furniture. A tailor, the wife of the mayor chef, gave birth to a baby girl: the first native-born inhabitant of Feverdrink.

At the surface, the elven caravan arrived. The bookkeeper offered them dozens of stone mugs that had been carved by an immigrant stonecrafter. In return, the elves traded away a tame black bear, barrels of wine, clusters of berries, and bins of cloth. The also parted with one strange item: a caged giant louse.

The dwarves debated what to do with the louse. It could be useful in battle, but insects had very short lifespans, and it was unlikely that a mate could be obtained before this one died of old age. They slaughtered it, and cooked its strange meat into stew.

Several elk birds were trapped in the cavern. The dwarves slaughtered most for food, but kept a male and a female alive for potential breeding. A dwarf was appointed official animal trainer, and she set about learning how to tame the creatures.

Meanwhile, a farmer stopped her work, taken by a fey mood. She strode to the crafts workshop, displacing the stonecrafter who was still carving mugs. She grabbed some pieces of granite and silk, and set to work. A few days later, she revealed her creation: “Lyricnumber,” a granite flute. The flute was encrusted with granite cabochons, and encircled with bands of cave spider silk. It bore hanging rings and spikes also made of granite. Interesting flute.

Another wave of immigrants showed up at the borders, and with this group came two refugees from The Swine-Deeps. One was the woodcrafter who had created the hamster-bone amulet amid the carnage, as that fortress collapsed in murder and flames. With him came his wife who babbled strangely, having been driven to permanent insanity by her experiences.

And then, a sudden threat emerged in the cavern:

An immense eyeless newt, with twin tails and poisonous blood. It swam through the subterranean lake, and climbed ashore amid a cluster of stalagmite-bedrooms. The spear-dwarf and axe-dwarf rallied, and two immigrants with some combat skill took up shields and silver-headed warhammers recently crafted by a metalsmith. No one had any meaningful armor.

The beast knocked down the door to a bedroom, and slid inside. The normal occupant, fortunately, was elsewhere. The militia assembled outside. When all were present, they charged into the bedroom. Or they were supposed to charge into the bedroom; only the axe-dwarf actually entered the cramped space. He sank his axe into the body of the slimy beast, but it shrugged of the attack and knocked the dwarf over. The axe-dwarf blocked the newt’s next blow with his shield, and stood. He hacked at it again, and again. Blood coated the walls, and puddled on the floor. The creature tried to retaliate but the dwarf dodged skillfully, and his weapon continued to find a home in its soft body. Finally, with several arteries severed, the giant newt collapsed. The axe-dwarf had, single-handed, slain an abomination from the dawn of time. The militia retreated, fearful of exposure to the poisonous blood.

Somehow, the axe-dwarf had avoided significant exposure to the blood, and he suffered no obvious symptoms. Other dwarves washed the inside of the bedroom, replaced the wooden door, and the owner eventually moved back in.

During the tumult, the insane refugee from The Swine-Deeps died. Incurable in her madness, she refused to eat or drink, and eventually succumbed to dehydration. The dwarves placed her body in a golden sarcophagus. Her husband was filled with sorrow, but for now he kept his own grip on sanity.

Trade with the humans proceeded without complication in the summer, and shortly afterward the leatherworker was possessed by the soul of a long-dead artisan. She took up the tanned hide of the newt-beast, and carried it to a workshop. Her creation:

A leather cap, “The Braid of Sacks.” It was decorated with fungiwood. Not particularly useful in battle, but perhaps it will be worn as ceremonial garb by a notable dwarf in the future.

In late autumn, the dwarven caravan from the Mountainhome arrived. It flushed a kobold thief from hiding, and a water buffalo pulling a wagon gored the small creature, which soon died. The dwarves of Feverdrink traded away many excellent shields and several dozen stone mugs. In return, they received bars of steel and pig iron, some barrels of booze, and some bins of cave spider silk.

As winter fell, the miners explored deeper into the earth. They uncovered two additional cavern layers, which masons partially walled off for safety. Digging further still, they at last encountered the magma sea. Nearby, a pale blue spire rose from the molten rock and pieced through the solid stone above. It was adamantine, impossibly light, tougher than steel, and workable into an edge that would pass through other metals as though they were water. The most rare and precious material known to dwarvenkind.

The dwarves elected to leave it untouched until they decided how to maximize the use of this incalculably valuable gift.

Back in the cavern, a glassmaker entered a secretive mood. She had no workshop in which to ply her trade, and the other dwarves scrambled to construct one.

At the surface, spring arrived.

• 18 Mar 2013

Feverdrink: Year 1

Dwarven calender year: 128.

The wagon stopped where the thick forest gave way to a low sand-covered bluff, which overlooked the ocean. The small herd of goats wandered amid the driftwood, and the two pack animals, a horse and a mule, searched for patches of grass among the cedar, highwood, and pine. A few stands of bamboo clustered between the conifers. Someone spotted a nurse shark swimming in the nearshore waters.

The forest was possessed of a subtle but wild magic, and the dwarves gaped at the sight of the first of many strange beasts whose territory they now shared:

The miners took up their picks and began digging an exploratory shaft into the forest soil. The spear-dwarf and expedition leader built furnaces and a forge, and the spear-dwarf used the imported steel bars to create an axe and a spear. She took up the spear, and the axe-dwarf also took up his new weapon.

The miners had not dug deeply when they encountered a watery layer of peat: the aquifer. As they planned how to bypass this obstacle, the axe-dwarf began clearing the forest where the miners’ earthworks would be centered.

The expedition leader built a small wooden shelter from the harvested lumber, and then crafted and installed several beds, plus a pair of tables and chairs. Rain fell, but beneath the crude wooden roof the dwarves ate their opossum meat, drank wine from barrels, and slept.

The miners’ elaborate scheme to pierce the aquifer was taking shape. Amid the cleared patch of forest, they had hollowed out the dirt immediately above the aquifer, but left a huge, square layer of clay in place above the hollow. This layer of clay was kept suspended by a rickety-looking wooden scaffolding designed by the expedition leader, and built over weeks with the help of all hands. It was many paces long on each side. Beneath the suspended clay, the miners dug out the peat. The waters of the aquifer flowed in, forming a dark pool.

By now summer had come, along with several immigrants. The dwarves slaughtered the pack animals for food, and brewed wild plants to replace the barrels of wine and ale already consumed.

All stood at a safe distance as the miners continued the last stage of their work. From the outer edge of the suspended clay, they carefully detached a single-piece ring of the clay; this too was supported by wooden scaffolding. They finished their last shaping of the ring, and stepped back. The entire structure of clay and wood hung quietly, precariously. An immigrant was chosen to perform the final operation.

The chosen fisherdwarf walked forward, selected a single piece of the scaffolding, and broke it apart. In a huge eruption of dust and watery mist, the outer clay ring collapsed beneath the surface, smashing into the aquifer waters. The fisherdwarf was thrown backwards choking on dust, but was unharmed.

The expedition leader had carved a wooden pipe, a huge wooden corkscrew, and a wooden block, and assembled these parts into a pump. A miner pumped out the water from the center of the fallen clay ring, and the ground stayed dry. The collapsed clay successfully held back the aquifer. The miners dug into the exposed ground beneath, and it also was dry: the aquifer continued no deeper. It was the end of the summer, and a major obstacle to the creation of Feverdrink had been bypassed; the dwarves could now delve into the stony bones of the earth.

As autumn began, the miners set themselves to the routine work of collapsing or removing the remaining clay overburden. The expedition leader sat in his workshop assembling wooden shields, and as weeks passed he became very skilled; his shields were of excellent quality. The spear-dwarf and axe-dwarf each selected one to carry as they performed their labors, as strange and sometimes immense wildlife continued to drift into view at the edges of the camp. The bookkeeper had encountered a pack of giant badgers in the woods; the badgers snarled and the bookkeeper fled, and the beasts did not pursue. Anticipating injury, the doctor used tallow from the pack animals and lye made from ash to create several bars of soap. The miners dug deeply, and emerged from their tunnels to announce that they had discovered an underground cavern, and that it held an expansive subterranean lake of fresh water.

At the end of the month, a caravan from the Mountainhome arrived. The merchants were impressed with the wooden shields crafted by the expedition leader. In exchange for a number of the shields, they parted with a few bars of steel and iron, a barrel of beer, and some pieces of cloth and leather. When trading was complete, their wagons rolled out and disappeared into the forest.

When winter came, a large group of sea otters migrated in from the north, and played together beside the ocean. The dwarves were eager for a proper fortress, or even proper shelter, and so they decided to move into the underground cavern. Though the cavern may hold denizens unknown, it so far seemed relatively benign. The two military dwarves felt confident in their weapons, and an immigrant tasked with mechanics could build some simple defensive traps.

The miners began hollowing out living and working spaces into the natural rock formations within the cavern, and the other dwarves started the laborious process of hauling their supplies deep beneath the earth. 

Gradually, they demolished workshops on the surface, and rebuilt them in the spaces opened by the miners. In the heart of the winter, the edge of the ocean froze, stilling the crash of waves. The otters had since moved on.

Food was running low, but the dwarves were hesitant to slaughter any goats until the herd was better established. The elven caravan should be coming in spring, but was still months away. However, a more immediate threat suddenly emerged.

In the cavern, a giant olm pulled itself out of the deep lake, and wriggled to the carved stone staircase. Winding its way upward, it slithered into a dark hallway, where several dwarves were hauling goods to their new quarters. The pale beast lunged. Horrified, the dwarves dropped their burdens and fled. The olm snapped its moist jaws at the mechanic, who leapt away and ran.

The two military dwarves hurried to intervene. The spear-dwarf arrived first, and she engaged the creature. She thrust her weapon into its leg, and the olm wheeled around and knocked her down. Twice it snapped at her, and twice she warded it away with her wooden shield. She clambered back to her feet, and stabbed the spear into its head. She twisted the weapon, and it writhed in pain. A second thrust pithed the brain, and the olm lay dead.

The butcher carried the large carcass to the surface, and processed it for organs and meat. Hunger was warded away for the time being. The ocean thawed, and with the passing of the ice came the arrival of spring.

• 16 Mar 2013

New Fortress: Feverdrink

The Lash of Trotting’s venture at The Swine-Deeps was an utter fiasco. A magma accident let to a burned landscape, charred corpses, rampant infighting, and murderous insanity. The survivors fled into the hills.

At the Mountainhome, however, political will for expansion was undiminished. The rulers eyed a new location to the east, past the stony arms of the mountains and through a conifer forest, to where the woodland halted abruptly at shores of a gulf of the vast ocean. The nobles assembled an embark team, and christened these adventurers Nabidgethor, “The Salty Dirge,” acknowledging both their new destination and the fate of the previous expedition.

At the site of the new fortress, the forested land to the west has deep layers of soil and bears an aquifer, but dwarven geologists expect to find no metal ores. The stratigraphic layers beneath the eastern ocean, however, should hold much untapped wealth. The sand along the beach can be used to supply extensive glassworks, and the dense forest can sustainably fuel the forges until the power of magma can be harnessed. Safely, this time.

The site has no river or other source of clean, fresh water. Perhaps the aquifer will be potable, or perhaps miners of The Salty Dirge will need to search for subterranean freshwater lakes in the caverns that lay deeper still.

The seven dwarves of The Salty Dirge are trained similarly to their counterparts in the luckless Molten Spirits:

• An expedition leader with social skills and some carpentry ability;
• A bookkeeper with skills in management and appraisal;
• Two miners;
• An axe-dwarf and a spear-dwarf, with additional skills in shield use and dodging;
• A doctor, well-trained in diagnosis.

Supplies include a small herd of goats, a cat, two mining picks, a few bars of steel, several oak logs and granite building stones, barrels of opossum meat and cave fish, barrels of wine and ale, seeds for subterranean plants, and a bit of cloth and leather.

Several skilled refugees from The Swine-Deeps are still at large; having fled into the hills and resettled in parts unknown. Perhaps some of these dwarves will choose to ply their trades for the glory of the Mountainhome once again, and will immigrate to the new hope of The Lash of Trotting: the soon-to-be-prosperous-and-not-at-all-on-fire Dotiror, “Feverdrink.”

Game modifications in place:

• Max population for immigration set to 60 instead of 200;
• Max number of children set to 20;
• Dwarves mature at age 6 instead of age 12.

• 13 Mar 2013