The Weary Warriors: Histories of Resignation and Rally

Chapter 10: Reckoning

110 Ti 10

The new stilt houses withstand the constant barrage of water better than our initial shelters do. It seems the bog is saturated by now, as puddles grow and coalesce into ponds. Amöst fears the water level will rise, and the huts would sink into the soil. We have no plans to act on this, though we are preparing wood for quick scaffolding and elevated platforms.

110 Ti 18

Såksël nearly died today. She went out to top off our food stockpiles and got stuck in the ground. Every attempt to move made her sink deeper. Shouts barely made it through the noisy precipitation. By the time we had boards down and rope to pull her out, she was chest-deep. In the end, this only cost us a pair of boots and many nerves, but one cannot count on such luck. We shall not stray from Ritharthikthog anymore.

110 Ti 25

I am running out of dry space for writing. The huts are a lost cause, but we're attempting to turn the rooves into platforms, connected by simple walkways and covered by planks and empty barrels as to keep some supplies merely damp – as opposed to waterlogged.

The ground is covered by water. Only tall plants and trees reach above it.
110 Mo 19

In the midst of the pouring rain, slim boats glid on the flood. We had not noticed them until one came directly towards us. Its two occupants must've noticed the desperate constructions, our struggle not to sink into the clear depths and the murky morass beneath.

The unexpected visitors were elves. And they were aghast, seeing the outpost up-close. We do not understand their language, and they soon assumed a sharp variant of Commontongue. "What sordid place is this?!" Såksël had the courage to take initiative, and stepped out. "This is the dwarven settlement Ritharthikthog." "Dwarves?! Why did you come here and deface the swamp so?" Såksël stammered about the broken wagon wheel, and Asmël took charge by cracking a joke about the horses. It wiped the furrows off elven foreheads. After an inquisitive look towards the animals, the visitors apologised for their offensive introduction and asked to land their boats for a while. "Be our guests! But we have no land, only shallows."

It turns out the winter in this swamp is always excessively rainy. The elves come every year to harvest some of the wild plants that sprout and flourish in this weather. They've taught us how to prepare rice (the pond grain), what tubers are edible, which shrubs make cloth, how to brew so-called tea steep, which animals to watch out for when and where, and most important of all, they scolded us for clear-cutting the area. Apparently the roots would've helped keep the ground stable, which seems obvious in hindsight.

Conversely, we explained the situation in the north, our purpose and misadventure here, and what life in the mountainhalls is like. These elves are unrelated to the ones in the valley and have never seen a dwarven community before. Neither had they heard of the Conflict of Clouting, which Mattöl told with straight face and bone-chilling detail. Though I don't think the elves quite believe it. We've also informed them of the various kinds of stones and ores known to us, described how a forge works and why the human kingdom of the east cannot compete with our metalsmithing. Üsën overcame her usual diffidence to demonstrate gypsum casts and obsidian tools.

I brought up our discoveries regarding the soil. Though the elves know little about it, they call the flammable stuff peat. We promised not to disturb the ground much, and given our guests' wisdom and experience with the swamp, we intend to keep this promise.

Finally, relations were good enough that we exchanged some goods before parting ways. Despite their expressed purpose of gathering food, the elves had lovely toys with them.

Unfortunately, I could not write anything down during their stay, because they would've frowned upon our use of vellum if they had recognised it as cow skin.