Attn: The common workerdwarf
Giant zombie cardinals! Run for your lives!
–A friendly reminder from The Management
The People’s Report to the Mountainhomes, Mid Spring 500
We regret to inform you that Anan Zisur has met her untimely demise at the claws, wings, and beaks of a flock of giant cardinal corpses. There were nine of them, and they fell upon her with uncommon fury as she relaxed by the banks Torturechannel.
Not our fault, pt.1
Not our fault, pt.2
We further regret to inform you that, while we were writing to inform you of Anan Zisur’s untimely demise, Zikath Bumal-Ish and Minesign have met their own, even less timely demises. It is our understanding that they were engaged in the picking and eating of asparagus when the cardinals struck.
Definitely not our fault, pt.1
Definitely not our fault, pt.2
In the absence of a Mountainhomes-approved official, we have decided amongst ourselves to appoint Gary as our new expedition leader. Gary is a solid, sensible dwarf of the people. She has a good head on her shoulders, and will undoubtedly lead the folk of Paintsplattered to lofty new heights.
Also she has an axe
Best regards,
The industrious people of Paintsplattered, 500-02-22
Addendum to the People’s Report to the Mountainhomes, Mid Spring 500
We regret to inform you that Gary’s head is no longer on her shoulders. Efforts are currently underway to locate it, and all the rest of her, for purposes of proper burial. Also because Gendal wants her axe.
Okay, maybe starting to be our fault -or- Lofty new heights!
In the absence of a Mountainhomes-approved official, we have decided amongst ourselves to appoint Rith Irerush as our new expedition leader. His qualities are dubious at best, but we have few options. We’re locked in the western wing of the supply chambers. We have no supplies of any use. Let the dwarf with the pick solve this problem, we say.
Please send help.
Soonish would be good
Best regards,
The industrious people of Paintsplattered, 500-02-23
The Current Management’s Report to the Mountainhomes, Mid Spring 500
Let it never be said that the people of Paintsplattered are trapped underground in a sandy hole with no supplies. In point of fact, only 43% of the people of Paintsplattered are trapped underground in a sandy hole, and we have ample stores of coal and leather heaped up in the corners. (And some clay, too, which we used to stop up all the entrances.) The remaining 57% are dead and decaying on the surface. Though the common worker dwarf is slow to recognize good news when she or he hears it, this is really quite encouraging. Had the esteemed members of the Previous Management and their subordinates not died where they stood, they might have lain awhile in the dead, dry fescue grass only to rise again and come in search of those still living. Or worse, their well-deserved hazard pay.
Nevertheless, our situation has never been more precarious. One blue peahen, three dwarves, and a dog–a delicious, meaty dog–are all that we could rescue from the storm of wings outside. Coal and leather make poor substitutes for proper meals, and we’ve nothing at all by which to quench our thirst. (Indeed, the common workerdwarf may have to be pressed into service as a butcher. It would not do to let hunger cloud the Management’s judgement at this crucial juncture, and that dog is a fine, big fellow with a russet coat that looks surprisingly appetizing…)
[Several spots that might be drool mar the page here]
It is truly the least happy of all our recent accidents, then, that the food and drink were piled so carelessly out in the hallway instead of here in our cozy little burrow. Reclaiming them will be a daunting task, for though our friends outside have fallen silent, the cries of our surviving animals still reach us, to say nothing of the awful flapping. Anyone who steps outside invites being pecked to death, and further rescue attempts would only draw the corpsebirds to us.
Nevertheless, we must persevere. It is what the Previous Management would have wanted. And all hope is not yet lost, for we have a tool in our repertoire that they did not! When the situation demands it, we’ll simply blame the Previous Management, thus allaying any suspicions about the capabilities of the Current Management.
–The Current Management, 500-02-24
Attn: The common workerdwarf
Let us weep for our fallen comrades. Though these trying times have left our hearts as dead and dry as the fescue grass in which they so nearly lay, let us think fondly on the Previous Management and their tireless efforts to keep us safe from unexpected flocks of unexpectedly furious cardinal corpses.
And let us not judge the common workerdwarf too harshly for so carelessly squandering their own lives–and thereby our mutual comfort and security!–in reckless pursuit of unauthorized asparagus.
–A friendly reminder from The Management
By order of the Management, mandatory weeping hours from 9:00-12:00 will be in effect until further notice.
By order of the Management, all weeping is to be done metaphorically only until further notice. Until we regain access to our stock of alcohol or, indeed, liquid refreshment of any kind, tears are strictly rationed. Squander them at your peril.
The Current Management’s Report to the Mountainhomes, Late Spring 500
Our situation has grown tolerably stable. In an act born of equal parts courage and desperation, we tore down a bit of the clay between us and the loathsome flock. While they busied themselves chasing our livestock, we crept out and mounded up some clay in the central hallway. Half our food and drink remained outside the new clay wall, yes, but less than half the expedition survived to eat and drink, so we considered it a victory. We gained access to our store of willow logs by the same maneuver, greatly expanding the tools available to us. With Jord promoted to acting carpenter, we were at last able to collapse into snug little beds at the end of the day. What’s more, Rith Irerush could finally sit in a proper chair and count our holdings.
Fig. 1: A well-paced wall
It soon became apparent that our wall of clay was poorly placed. While we had all the rum and most of the remaining cheese, the reindeer hearts were still out of reach, along with the wine, beer, and ale. The seeds, too, had been left for the cardinals, bringing an indefinite halt to our plans for the Zikath Bumal-Ish memorial garden.
(But perhaps this is just as well. Until the farms could be excavated and prepared, the Previous Management had assigned Zikath to gather wild plants to help fill out the larder. Multiple witness among the survivors can attest to seeing Zikath returning with an armload of tender, crisp asparagus stalks. The very same witnesses spoke of having seen Minesign eating asparagus shortly before the cardinals attacked. And now, during his month of bookkeeping, Rith Irerush has been unable to locate a single stalk. It is the opinion of the Current Management, then, that Zikath Bumal-Ish and Minesign were likely engaged in a conspiracy to eat all the asparagus without sharing. A formal complaint shall be filed.)
For the better part of a month, we waited, and listened, and mourned our fallen comrades, and cursed our inability to give them a proper burial, or even a memorial. And then, at last, we heard not the chirps and flaps of giant zombie murder birds, but the plaintive little mews of our wayward fortress cat. Jord quickly cut a door to size while Gendal tore down a bit of the clay. It was the first time any of us had stepped outside since the attack began. You may well imagine our threefold delight, then, at finding our doorstep no longer darkened by dead cardinals; at having a real and proper doorstep; and at having our cat returned to us.
Fig. 2: A vital component of any proper home
With the spirits of the common workerdwarf and the Current Management alike thus lifted, we grew bold once more, and struck out for the surface. Jord built a light and supple cage to keep our livestock safe until better accommodations can be arranged. Gendal took up Gary’s axe and felled a few more trees. Rith Irerush put the finishing touches on the fortress inventory. And gradually, as our fallen comrades’ blood began to wash away, summer came to Paintsplattered.
Fig. 3: Industry progresses again!
–The Current Management, 500-04-01
Attached you will find:
One formal complaint regarding Zikath Bumal-Ish and Minesign’s conspiracy to eat all the asparagus without sharing.
One formal petition for a competent cook and herbalist to be dispatched with all possible speed, because, while we’ve never eaten asparagus-and-reindeer-heart biscuits, we’d really like to try someday.
One formal inquiry as to how many teeth a dog actually has, because there are really quite a lot of them blanketing the southern bank of the stream.
One informal invitation to come see the all dog teeth–some of them are even up in the trees, it’s pretty amazing.
