User:Dark T Zeratul/Glentreaties

Journal of Brewmaster Vegdrasil
17th of Sandstone, 1050

Exiled. Can you believe it? Me. Vegdrasil. Brewmaster of Shorast Nar, exiled because of some stupid whiny elf bastard who got all uppity because the ale keg I gave him was made of wood "cruelly slain by cave-dwelling savages." How was I to know that he was the prince? Anyway, since King Outhalast apparently really wanted to make good diplomatic ties with those tree-dwelling pricks, he's thrown me in with the latest expeditionary force. Of course, everyone knows that these so-called "expeditions" to construct new fortresses are really just a way of getting rid of the undesirables. Most of the fortresses are never heard from again, and those that are usually don't bear good news. The caravan to Angelpeace reported nothing but bones only two years after its founding. The caravan to Bronzedawns never even returned at all. And Headshoots? Well, the less said about Headshoots the better, really.

So anyway, this batch of ingrates that I'm stuck with is a real piece of work. Our self-appointed leader, Brumbol, hates our mason, Id, who hates our cook, Cali. Our planter, Sarvesh, is a kleptomaniac. Our carpenter Anga seems to be made entirely out of muscle, and I'm fairly certain our engineer, Nil, is secretly planning our deaths. I swear, if I live through this, it will be a miracle.

1st of Granite, 1051
Well, we've finally arrived at this godforsaken place. A river valley at the edge of the East Swamp, in the foothills of the Mountains of the Invisible Tower... This is where we've been told to build our fortress. Snow still covers much of the ground, and the river (more of a stream, really) looks like it's frozen solid. There aren't even any wild animals around that I can see, although depending how you look at it that's not necessarily a bad thing. If there were elephants here, it would be... Bad. There was another fortress that had problems with elephants. It ended with a single half-crazed warrior walking away from a barren field filled with naught but bones and ash, and a dire warning to never go there again.

I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here, then turned to our "fearless leader" Brumbol. I figure if he's gonna call himself leader then dammit I'm going to make sure he acts like one. "What shall we call it?" I asked. "Glentreaties," he replied after a moment. Wow, with a name like that, we will surely strike fear into the hearts of our potential enemies. Which, by the way, are pretty fucking numerous. I snuck a look at the records before we left, and apparently there are known serpent men and antmen colonies in the area. We're also very near to the territory of a particularly vicious goblin kingdom, not to mention the elves who I'm sure are going to be THRILLED that the dwarf who pissed off their prince is living in the area.

There's absolutely no way we have enough alcohol to get me through this. Once we get a farm set up, priority ONE for me is building a still.

1st of Slate, 1051
A month into spring and the snow still hasn't melted yet. We also had an oh-so-fun snowstorm that lasted about a week and a half. In that month, we've managed to accomplish all of digging a single tunnel and a trade depot. Brumbol at least managed to demonstrate that he's not a complete tactical idiot, using the stream (brook, actually, now that I've had a closer peek at it) as a moat and walling off the sides to funnel our inevitable foes into a single chokepoint. Still no sign of any wildlife beyond a sizable hoard of marmots, but I refuse to let my guard down for even a second. If some sort of horrible forgotten beast doesn't kill me, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if my compatriots did...

11th of Slate, 1051
While most of us have been digging out temporary storage for food and goods, Brumbol asked Anga to dismantle the wagon and chop down some trees, a task she has taken to with a disturbing amount of enjoyment. In other news, the brook just unfroze. Not a gradual thaw, it was simply ice one moment and then FWOOSH. Water. I hate this place.

7th of Felsite, 1051
We've almost finished hauling everything across the valley and into our fortress. Now Brumbol wants us to make craftsdwarf workshops and start churning out the little rock figurines and toys that everyone loves so much. I must admit, I've always found the crafts we imported from the fortresses to be gaudy and poorly constructed, but I suppose now that I'm on the other end of things I can see the appeal of trade goods that are cheap and easy to make from an overabundant resource. In other news, Brumbol has officially made Anga our Militia Commander... And our Chief Medical Dwarf. I dare not question this decision, for fear that he might declare me insane and ask Anga to practice her "art" to "cure" me. Truly these are terrifying times we live in. I fear for the safety of any dwarf who goes to war with Anga and gets injured.

5th of Hematite, 1051
Well it's summer now, and Brumbol seems to have reached the limits of his creativity. We've dug out stockpiles for everything, but he seems unsure of how to proceed. He has the miners digging out ore veins OUTSIDE THE FORTRESS because he doesn't know what to do INSIDE of it. I try telling him to just "keep going down" but it's like talking to a brick wall. Morale is dwindling rapidly and I suspect there will be bloodshed soon if something isn't done to raise our spirits.