Zulban was starting to get overwhelmed. Although he could usually handle stress, he felt that these nobles were just too much. At first, it had just been the dungeon master. Goden really wasn’t even that bad. He had professed to sharing most of Boltcraft’s disdain for the nobility. He pledged his support to the war effort wholeheartedly. Zulban guessed that he must be quite skilled at making bars by now. Maybe even proficient. Goden had told Boltcraft that he was required by the government of the Gilded Diamonds to have relatively good rooms. These had been prepared ahead of time, there was no problem.
Then the other bloodsu, Nobles had arrived. That tax collector, demanding that the normal zefie policy of ‘from each according to ability, to each according to need,’ be replaced with capitalism. PAH. Zulban had tried to be welcoming. Building and running all three shops himself, but his heart was not in it. He had only bothered to stock one of his stores. Then there was that hammerer. He seemed so cold and calculating. Like a snake. Zulban knew that, in the event of a fight, Atis would kick his fuzzy ass to Nist and back, but they couldn’t do that, right? Then there was the baroness and baron consort, he had heard bad things about them, but they hadn’t been too bad, up to this point.
All of the new nobles had demanded very good places to live. Goden and Zulban had found a pretty little loophole in the rulebook. The nobles were crammed into one super luxurious room. They had complained, but were quickly amazed by the lavish accommodations. Snoopicus took an extra bed there too, ‘just to keep an eye on ‘em.’ Although it seems that he was recently evicted. There was a shortage of bone bolts too.
The rulebook. 764 pages of pure hell. It detailed every rule and procedure for running a fortress. Their first noble, the dungeon master Goden had brought three copies. Goden did, of course, keep his own copy. The main administrators, Warthog and Zulban had received one each as a ‘gift’ from the king of the gilded diamonds himself. Goden had an office and it never left his desk. Warthog had been given one, but its current location was unknown. It was hoped that Warthog had left it in his board room as opposed to dropping it in his forge. Zulban had been doing his best to read through his entire copy. Every night, lying in bed, Zulban would try to read at least 26 pages. However, he read by candlelight. In retrospect, he should have used a sturdier candle holder. It was a good thing that zefies were fire resistant.
Although most of the important people of Boltcraft were not in attendance, Warthog and the snipers had gotten some respected zefies into Zulban’s office. Representing the armed forces were Atis and Rawr. The entire regular sniper core was there, Zak, Mirza, Foxtrot, and their leader, Snoopicus. Inod Searchpage, now taking over bone-carving duties was their, along with the clothes maker, Rith. Kirkost the injured knight and miner had been talking (right) with Zulban and stayed for the meeting. Ral Roughdimpled, the cook had been found making a midnight crumpet. He came along as well. Then there was Warthog and (obviously) Zulban.
Zulban looked around at the assembled zefies. Did he need a bigger office too? The board room would have been better, but he supposed that Warthog wouldn’t like his office occupied like that. Zulban resigned to ask Kirkost to design and build a meeting room (again). Zulban started talking,
“Zefies of Boltcraft, you have all been called here because we have a bit of a problem. Our new nobles have made several ‘mandates’ for us to fulfill. First of all, I’m not really sure what else to say, we need information on this entire process. Warthog, your book is in your office, right?”
“Possibly,” a glare, “Maybe, Probably?” More glaring, “Uhhh, yes?”
“Foxtrot, I’d like you to go to Warthog’s office and get his rulebook, okay? Zak, you have some skill at stealth, right? Go and wake up Dungeon Master Goden. Goden has much more experience in this then any of us. Don’t wake up any of the other nobles.”
The snipers moved off on the assignments. Both were novice ambushers, but went carefully. Zulban tried to explain the situation to the others, “Several of the nobles have said that we must produce their favorite items. Apparently, it’s one of their rights. I doubt that any of you have noticed, but I have been giving out mandates for a while now. I don’t have a choice, I have to as mayor. Goden will probably be able to explain better.”
Demurely blinking, Inod asked, “What you’re saying is that these nobles, who don’t do anything productive are telling us what to do? We have plenty of bored refugees, can we tell one to do whatever they say?”
Rith, as fiery as ever, interjected, “But that’s just not right. Many of the refugees are bored, but very few can’t find anything to do. There are more than enough hauling tasks to do around here. Why, my very own workshop is so over crowded right now that I work a lot slower than I could in fact . . .”
Ral interrupted at this point, to everyone’s relief (except Rawr, who had drifted off to sleep). “Inod’s solution is not perfect, and I agree that the ethics of it aren’t to clear, but I have to say that we should try to get along with the nobles for now. It’s a tax on our workforce, but it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”
Warthog replied, “That’s the thing, it is. We have four mandates total here. The Baroness doesn’t want us to export leather armor. That’s no problem at all. Although, several people are agitating for us to get away from using it at all, we lose nothing from holding on to it for a bit longer. Her husband is demanding for us to construct three crowns. It’s a bit strange, but no big deal. Unib and Z-Carver will find the instruction in their respective shops tomorrow morning. In a pinch, I suppose that you could build them too, Inod.”
Zulban took off from their, “I have an active mandate as well. It is for two copper items. It’s a pointless mandate really, as we produce a large number of copper bars and the weapon smith had been practicing by making copper bolts. The last mandate is the worrisome one. The tax collector want a pig iron item.”
Atis jumped into the fray, bumping Rawr in the process, “But you can’t build anything with bloody pig iron, it is useless for anything except to make steel bars. Would making steel bars count for it? This might not be so bad actually. Me and my soldiers would really like some better equipment, especially shields. No offense to Imush, the legendary Leatherworker, but a groundhog skin can only stop so much.”
The debate soon drifted off into the steel industry and then into traps. After several minutes, Foxtrot came into the room. He quickly moved behind Warthog and whispered, “You were using the rule book to balance your green glass statue, I couldn’t get it out without tipping the thing. After the meeting, Zax and I will move the statue out of the way and retrieve it, neh?”
Then, resplendent in several differently colored (clashing) cloaks, Goden Flickerhatchets strode in. The heavy book was held in a strong and very tough fuzz and Zax followed closely behind.
I now have an actual plan on where to go with this story! And I already have a design for the sequel! I’ll be going on a mini-vacation in about 6 hours, so I won’t be able to post. I will, however have my laptop and I plan to do a fair bit of typing. I’ll also have my phone, expect me to check the forums several times a day, so feel free to post questions, comments, suggestions, adoration, flames, smiles, or to claim a character.
Now, if you excuse me, I sorta got to pack. And sleep.
(Edit: Zax to Zak, oops)
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Topic: Zefie Fortress: What do you mean, Bismuth!?[Community] (Read 5671 times)