(This is not a gameplay story per-say, but whatever)
Deep in the halls of Craftsanctums, in a far off alcove of the workshop district, an argument was taking place. A DWARF argument. Thankfully no party had used weapons yet, but the participants were inches away from placing an axe in the body part of someone else. The arguers were as follows: Melbil, the Mason, Urist, the Carpenter, and Atis, the Blacksmith. The three were arguing over whose job was the most vital to the running of the fortress. Melbil was quick to make the assertion that his fine stonework had populated the fortress and provided many needed things, such as tables, chairs, and the almighty DOOR. He said without his work, the fortress would be a flooded uncomfortable mess “We’d have things lying around all willy-nilly, not to mention the bloody RIVER! The canalworks would have been useless without me fine floodgates!” bellowed Melbil. Urist, however, was quick to point out how much space his bins had saved the fortress, and how important his buckets and beds were for comfort and healthcare. “Would ya’ gits have rather been sleeping on the Ber damned floor?!” howled Urist. Atis took a stand on the safety of the fortress saying, “Bah, if it weren’t fer ma’ blacksmithin’, this fort would’ve been swallowed by those goblin wankers seasons ago! Not to mention all them… things we be findin’ down deep!” As the argument reached its critical stage, Rimtar the brewer, who was passing through the hall near the alcove, peeked in his head and said, “Hey, guys, the new batch of ale is all brewed and ready upstairs”, shot them a thumbs-up, and strolled down toward the meeting hall. The three belligerents looked at each other, and bowed their heads. “The brewer wins…” they said as one, and headed down the drink storeroom to get (more) drunk.
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Topic: A Ribald Tale of Insanity (Read 1086 times)