Bloodline:Oceanside Year 4

From the journal of Ekkosangen, Brewmaster of Bloodline:Oceanside:

Granite, 204

1st: It's that time, journal. That eccentric, Andrew Ryan, barged into my room yesterday and said I was slacking, claimed I was not putting out the effort that I once was, and that I was to take responsibility over the construction of the great underwater city that he's planned. Me! I supply this hole in the sea with the finest alcohol, with additional mining and farming duties to boot, and he has the gall to say I'm slacking? Not to mention I couldn't lead an expedition out of a wet paper bag, let alone head the construction of an underwater city made entirely of glass! I'm the best brewer in the land, not the best architect!

He insisted, promising a luxurious suite on it's completion, so I accepted the job. We'll see if he realized just how much of a mistake he's made; not that I would harm anyone on purpose, journal! He's just...why doesn't HE head the construction? He IS the foreman!

2nd: As my first act in charge of the fort's well-being, I am now considered a more-fitting brewmaster, not a mere brewer. I took a tour of the fortress today, you miss so much when you're focused on your job. I spotted a millstone, but wasn't sure what it was there for; we haven't got a stalk of cave wheat, and the sweet pods were far too valuable to just make sugar out of.

Then I decided to take a walk outside. If someone told me about it, I would have never believed it: A ring of screw pumps set up over the water stretching out from the beach. The noise could be heard from the entrance, it sounded like the roar of a thousand angry dragons. It was creating a pocket of air and mist inside the ring, where a few dwarves busied themselves with deconstructing the walkways across the middle. You could already see the glass walls built below on a floor of more glass.

I never want to go out there again.

15th: I hear of constant complaints that the glass makers are in need of more sand, I advised them to grab a bag and head to the surface. The masons are also troubled by the constantly soaking environment of the air pocket-forming contraption, constantly suspending our work until the area is clear. I had to go outside and make sure they got the job done despite their constant complaints. The effect the contraption had was less significant, but I feared for my life while I was down in the air pocket, a vortex of air and mist quickly soaking me beard to toe. The sound is deafening, but tolerable.

Andrew Ryan complained about the lack of platinum things around the fortress. I told him to find me some, and I'd get something made, but he just pointed at the signed mandate that my predecessor left for me, presumably for the same reason.

16th: Visitors! The elves have descended upon us with good tidings and supplies to trade. Andrew grumbled as he went up to meet them, as though he were less than happy to go out there. Wonder why that is?

17th: I hate elves...

23rd: Production on the initial tunnel is going swiftly, but only when I'm there when they build the walls and floors. Masons sure do like to complain a lot, especially that tehmarken fellow. It took several hours to get him to finish the section of wall he was building. I was exhausted from tossing the small pebbles at him when he attempted to leave the air pocket. I don't blame him, but there's work to do, and the tunnel is almost done!

The elves stand around at the trading depot still, in awe at our beautiful pumping platform. Or maybe in shock. In any case, they haven't left so they must not be offended, but those hippies are starting to get on my nerves.

Slate, 204

2nd: Ryan has finally ended his silly platinum mandate, but has thrown our metalsmith in jail for 50 days for his trouble. Not a bad sentence, but I'd prefer if he'd not make ridiculous demands. Elves are still here, wish they'd leave us alone. We also have a low supply of glass, and the stuff is only just trickling out of the glassworks. Whoever managed this fort before me sure didn't think that we needed so much glass. Production is as swift as it can possibly be--needless to say it's slow.