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I decided to build a boat in dwarf fortress. A big, towering ocean liner, something to drive fear into the hearts of goblins everywhere. Something to tackle mighty waves in an instant, and stand ready, declaring "We are dwarves, and we will master the very ocean itself." Bold? Perhaps. Rash? More than likely. Glorious beyond belief? Sign me up.
Obviously I couldn't jump straight into the construction. No no, there was a lengthy preface my friend. I needed to set up base first. A head quarters, in which to plan - to concieve. The base was indeed set up. A few workshops, a small barracks, a servicable dining hall... it was quaint, but it did the job.
The poor choice in my geographical selection soon dawned on me. Most of the immediate area was ocean. So, aside from the tiny farms we managed to set up, and the few piles of fish that were available, there wasn't much food around. Things were looking a little grim already, and construction of my mighty ocean liner had yet to begin, let alone the planning thereof.
The ground was barely fertile, and there were not many herbs to be gathered to tide us over until the trade caravan approached. I was left with no recourse, my choice was clear. Hunting would be necessary. I don't like sending my dwarfs hunting. It's... dangerous work. Too risky. No dwarf should have to face death, let alone while scavenging for food rather than protecting their homes and loved ones. Regardless, there was no other path for us to take. It was hunt, or starve.
I wasn't quite sure what my next step was to be. How do you chose which dwarf are to risk death, and which aren't? How do you assign importance values? After some turmoil, I decided to entrust the task to the settlement's mayor, Nomal. The wellbeing of the dwarfs was her responsibility, and it was her duty to keep them fed. No matter the cost.
We didn't even have any armour. No protection at all. Nor did we have any weapons. Nomal went to the stockpile and picked up the only thing that came close; a goddamn mining pick. She was prepared to hunt and kill feral beasts with nothing but the clothes on her back and a mining pick, just so the other dwarves didn't go hungry.
Ingris stopped her at the door. Her husband. He went into the stockpile, silently retrieved the only other pick, and came back to her. They embarked into the wilderness, fully prepared for whatever awaited them. Together.
They turned out to be quite adept at it. Nomal was quieter and more careful, more patient, but Ingris was quicker and stronger. They worked together quite well indeed. Foxes, mostly. A few deer. An aligator every once in a while. Each of them always looked the other in the eyes with that same, worried face before they left. The face that said "this might be it." They kept at it though. They had too.
The caravan made it's way to our little corner of the world eventually. The other dwarves had been crafting away, and we had more than enough to trade for the seeds and meat we so desperately needed. Nomal and Ingris were away from the camp when the caravan came, and the dwarves weren't sure when it would be around again, let alone how long it would linger now. Datan had to do the trading instead of Nomal. It was peculiar that the fortress' trader wasn't available, but the caravan made no objection. Datan seemed rather skilled at it.
Ingris and Nomal had no idea the caravan had arrived. They had been gone for quite some time. Last they heard, the food stockpiles were completely empty, and if they didn't return with something, anything, well... it wasn't an appealing thought to say the least.
Unfortunately, the land was barren. They had over hunted in their quest for survival. No beasts were to be found. Ingris knew what had to be done. His heart was heavy with the thought, but he was resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. Taking Nomal by the hand, Ingris led her to the edge of the mountains, directly over looking the vast ocean. It was here that the small volcano lay.
It was dangerous. It had always been dangerous, but not like this. Then again, they had no choice. To their understanding, it was this, or starve. Ingris insisted that he take point, and Nomal wait by the side until he managed to draw out a single creature for them to attack. It was raining heavily. Nomal would never forget the rain, not after today. Ingris climbed down into the depths of the volcano, and spotted a lone magmaman. Neither of them had ever seen one before, but everybody had heard the tales.
Ingris whistled at it, then jolted up toward the surface as he saw the beast give chase. It was flying after him as though it was made of some kind of magical force that ignored anything which might hamper it's progress. He barely made it out again before it was on him, the searing claws rending and burning his flesh within seconds. Nomal struck the creature again and again with her pick, but it took the furious beating as if she was a child smacking her fists on her father's back. She kept swinging until she was sure the pick would break, and the horrible thing eventually collapsed on the ground. Nomal wasn't certain how long she had been attacking it for, but evidently it had been long enough that Ingris had been reduced to a pile of ash. All that was left of the man she loved was a single sock.
She wept.
She wept and wept and wept and wept for hours in the pouring rain, crouched over a dirty old ruined sock.
Eventually, she managed to compose herself. The magmaman's corpse was still there. The fortress still needed food. She pocketed the sock, and then hefted the beast's remains onto her back. It was hot still, but the rain had cooled it enough that she wasn't being seriously burned. Ingris carried the thing to the fortress in the torrential rains. It took quite some time, but on her return she saw the caravan leaving in the distance. She dropped the magmaman on the ground, and saw the stockpile heaving with fresh foods, and enough seeds to keep the farms autonomous for years to come.
Nomal had no words. She went to her office, and sat at her desk, staring at the wall. Eventually she remembered the sock. She pulled it out, and put it on the table. It was just a muddy, ruined piece of cloth now. It had been perhaps a half day now since her tangle with the beast. Since she last saw Ingris' beatiful eyes staring at her. Since she'd felt his warm, safe embrace. She collapsed on the desk, crying and shrieking for the longest time.
Suddenly Nomal went silent. This was not right. Ingris wouldn't want her to behave like this. She got up, took the sock, and put it away in her chest. It took all the willpower she had, but she put on a brave face, and left her office. It was time to check on her people.
The dining room went silent as soon as she entered. It occured to her that she had not changed her clothes, or even washed herself since the incident. Her clothes were burned, tattered and soaking wet. Her face was covered in ash, blood and tears. Nomal didn't care one bit. She asked what the situation was. Datan snorted, and said that the settlement was doing quite fine under his guidance; food was abundant, and they had even made a slight profit in the trade. It seemed that he was quite good at it.
That was too much. Nomal couldn't take it. To know that after all that, the fortress didn't even need her... no. That was not something she could brave. Not without Ingris. She fled the dining room, and ran straight to the stockpile. Without hesitation, she opened up an entire barrel of wine and just started drinking. It tasted disgusting with the knowledge that it was Datan who had aquired it, but she needed the release.
Days went past, and soon weeks. All Nomal did now was sit in her office, drink wine, and enter fits of depression where she wept for what seemed an eternity. The fortress was doing well. She was in no state to go about her mayoral duties, but Datan had stepped up to the position. The people adored him. Months flew by, and eventually Datan was elected mayor, to replace Nomal. She had been demoted to his old position, the settlement's trader. He was too busy now to take care of it. Of course, Datan needed a new office now. He took hers, without even letting her remove her few belongings. The only other office was a much smaller, dank little room one level below the mayor's office. Nomal didn't care. It was cramped, dark, cold and it reeked of death, but she was long past caring about something as trivial as that.
More and more waves of immigrants swept through, until there were hundreds of dwarfs where once there had been but seven. A Baron had even arrived to live in the mighty fortress, which inevitably gave Datan an inflated sense of self importance. It was his fortress, after all, and it was good enough for a Duke.
Nomal had been trying to take her mind away from the dark places it so easily fell to now. She tried her hand and stonecrafting, carpentry, architecture... but none of it held her attention for very long. One of the taskmasters took pity on her, and gave her something to do to keep her from the wine.
Datan's office needed new furniture, and she had been told to move the old pieces out to be replaced with some garish, flaunty items. As soon as she opened the door, all the memories came flooding back. Looking around at her old room, and her old things made what happened to Ingris all those years ago seem but yesterday. She was shaking violently, but she was keeping it together. Barely.
Then her heart stopped. Her eyes fell on the chest lying at the other end of the room. She knew what was in there. Datan had huge personal quarters, he would never even think of storing something in his office. No, Nomal knew that it was still in there. It seemed to be a huge distance away, and each step sapped her strength, her bravery, until she was right at the chest
She stood there staring at it for the longest time. After an eternity of indecision, she tried to open it. It was a sturdy chest, and she was shaking so much it took some effort indeed. The lid fell back, and the filthy, ruined old sock was staring right back at her.
Nomal stopped shaking immediately. Calmly and quietly, she closed the chest and moved over to the door. She shut it and locked it. Then she walked toward the center of the room, readied her pick that she still carried at all times, and took her own life. Nomal lay there, her blood running freely, thinking about that one sock, and the wonderful man it had belonged to.
My dwarven ocean liner seemed a little inconsequential after that.
Last edited by Spoony on Sun Jun 27, 2010 5:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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