Kahdzbar’s Journal, Part 4

I bear tragic news.

Today, work proceeded as usual. Smiley was doing her daily farm-related activites. Sparky was clearing off the remaining areas. Fishy was off fishing. And She-Wolf set off like she always did, axe in hand, expression determined.

She didn’t return for lunch that day. Or afternoon alcohol. Or evening alcohol.

That night, as we sat around the campfire eating our roasted fish, we realized that we couldn’t feel She-Wolf’s comforting gaze on our backs and the place was less quiet than usual. A quick headcount revealed the worst—She-Wolf was missing.

We mounted a search party. As I sat down to record this very entry, Easy entered, She-Wolf’s tattered corpse in his hands. Something had brutally torn her apart—there were tooth marks and gashes all over her body, and she was literally soaked through with her own blood. I’m afraid some of it has gotten on to the pages of this book.

I ask Easy if they’d found the fiend who’d killed her. She informed me that they had, in fact, seen the culprit, but that it would be impractical to pursue said killer and bring them to justice.

I understand the reasoning, but I don’t have to like it.

Let it thus be recorded into the books of the ancients that “She-Wolf” Sazirukosh died as she lived—a woman of battle, of decisive action and honorable warfare. Though she may have lost her life at the traitorous waste-stained hands of a Rhesus monkey, she will live on forever in our hearts as a guardian and a hero. When the fortress is fully established, I will name a main gate after her to immortalize forever the protection she gave us.

Rest in peace, She-Wolf. There are no monkeys beyond the veil.

Coming in a week later. I haven’t had much time to keep up with this record as of late—things have been real busy, what with us short a hand and all. I almost wish we could send back asking for someone new, but I don’t want to sound greedy. Besides, I’m sure we can make do with 6 people.

This morning, I decided to go on a tour of the fortress—see how things were coming along, and all that. I’d spent the rest of the week designing the proposed lower stories in my tent, so I was interested to see how my men were getting along without my firm hand to guide them.

First, I visited the storage room. A bit sparse, I thought. Perhaps they shifted around all of the massive food barrels when I wasn’t looking. I’d have to sort that out—we won’t get anywhere if we misplace all of our rations, now, will we?

At that point, my train of thought was interrupted by Easy. She was dragging a barrel inside with one and eating something with the other.

“Sampling the food barrels, are we?” I asked in a playful voice.

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “Actually, no, this isn’t a food barrel. It’s full of rocks.”

“Rocks?”

“You said to store away any ore we found,” she said. “So, here’s the latest barrel. Sorry, the stockpile outside is filling up.”

“Stockpile outside? Where, exactly, outside?”

“All of it, more or less. The whole outside.”

I gestured, a little confused. “So, then, where are the food barrels?”

“Eh?”

“The barrels full of food.”

She stared at me for another moment. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Well, like,” I gestured towards her hand. “That. Where’d you get that?”

She opened her palm. “This? Corner of the refuse room. Little scamp was quick, but I managed to tempt him out with a spare bit ‘o cheese.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re eating rats? How often?”

“Oh, not often. Just, you know, when I get hungry.”

Without another word, I stormed into the farm room.

There stood Smiley, something that took me a moment to actually grasp. She was absolutely caked head-to-toe with filth, such that one could quite possibly plant a half-acre of crops on her chest. The only things visible were her eyes—mad, bright sparks that glowed in the torchlight. For the first time in this noble enterprise, I was genuinely unsettled.

“What?” she asked, a little forcefully.

I didn’t know what else to ask, so I went with, “How’s the farm coming along?” At this point she simply crouched, growled, and began to paw the earth savagely. I heard her mutter, “Come on, mushrooms, grow, or you’ll never get promoted, no, you’ll hit the dirt, the dirt ceiling, grow, grow you bastards…” at this point, I elected to take a break.

I’m not afraid to admit that we’ve hit another little rough patch.