You take the journal in your hands. Ouch, shit. You readjust your grip. (It bristles with spikes of limestone.) The first page reads:
Entry 1: Striking Earth
How the hell was I supposed to know Catten was married? It's her fault for not wearing her beard in a marriageknot. And honestly, her and Urist weren't going to last long anyway.
Why am I being so punished? We settled it under holy law! Twenty-eight mugs of gutter cruor were consumed by both of us, and in the ensuing brawl my dwarven jaw was broken. I am free of wrongdoing!
So why, in the name of Armok's beard, did the carp of fate see fit to have me
WAKE UP
IN A FUCKING WAGON
WITH THESE SIX IDIOTS?
---------------------------------
RadPanda woke that morning with an unpleasant sensation on his face.
"Sunlight?! Armok's beard, Urist, have I not suffered enough-"
"Good morning, leader!"
The hungover dwarf opened his eyes, and found himself looking up into the grinning face which had greeted him. It was leaning over him so close he could smell the wine on her beard.
"I'm Thob!"
"mmrph?"
"I personally held your beard aloft as we removed you from your puddle of vomit, leader!"
"What?"
"Thob Nekutmeng! I'm your Wood Cutter!"
"What?"
"Of course, I also Dabble in Negotiation, Flattery, Judging Intent, Comedy, and Intimidation!"
"WHAT?"
".. I was planning on improving at parties, leader!"
RadPanda groaned and rolled over. This particular crour dream would receive no more of his attention.
The hallucination, unfortunately, would not accept his refusal. He heard more voices.
"We're the Seven!"
"The earthstrikers!"
"As ordered by Urist OutrageousBeard, Supreme Log Examiner, you have been selected to lead the latest expedition of the Lance of Cages into the wild!"
"Our fortress, Tradesummit, is to secure the Lance's hold on this region!"
RadPanda sat upright, things were beginning to come into focus. He opened his eyes. Six eager dwarves beamed at him. Dogs slobbered stupidly over the countryside.
"You.. you dragged me out of the dining hall?"
"The mandate was very precise."
There was a silence.
The dwarves watched as their leader looked around at the supplies surrounding him. He pounded on one of the barrels with his fist. It made a satisfying, watery clunk. With some effort, he took hold of a nearby pickaxe, and swung its head firmly into the cap. Taking the barrel in both hands, he lifted it up above him, resting the metal of the pick against his head. Alcohol began to pour into his mouth, which he swallowed with gusto.
"The miner's salute!"
"He even cries with joy!"
"Strike the earth, comrades! We have much work to do!"
Author
Topic: LSD: Tradesummit (Read 1009 times)