This is a minor update. I haven't even played half a month yet. The daughter is no longer sick, though, and I am mostly caught up from the holiday rush, so I hope to get some more time to play tonight.
Dorfed (so far):
GoombaGeek
Splint
Dinjoralo
hostergaard
Urist Imiknoriss
Dorfitron
Inspiredsimji
Let me know if any of the nicknames or anything need to be changed. I will try to dorf some more folks later.
Here is the intro to my turn. I started off with a sort of
film noir flavor, but it sort of mutated into Jacques Clouseau, with occasional trips back and forth and into other side areas. It wouldn't surprise me if a Looney Tunes reference came flying out at some point. I really should have decided all this before I started typing.
Case Log
19 Limestone, 510, Lostdoor
Evening in the dwarven burrow that never sleeps. I was in my office, knocking back a slug of sewer brew, when there was a knock on the door. I quickly put away the mug and the barrel, reached under my desk, and silently disengaged the safety on my Orrin & Company Model 753 "Dhey-Zee" crossbow. It was silent because I clean and oil it every day: you never know when your piece might be needed for "convincing" a "concerned citizen" to freely unburden his mind. To "talk." To "squeal." To "sing." It also comes in handy for keeping people from complaining that I use too many "quote marks," whatever those are. Probably something tough and worldly, like my attitude and my reputation.
To tell the truth, the safety isn't even connected to anything; it's just a piece of wood I attached to the stock so I would have something to toggle in a meaningful fashion when something was about to go down. I held the weapon under the desk and pointed it at the door. (I cut out the front of the desk a few years back and replaced the wood panel with one made from rope reed fiber. I painted it to make it indistinguishable from the original wood, as long as you don't look directly at it or you're blind.)
"Enter."
A young messenger -- couldn't have been more than 50 years old -- opened the door, stepped inside, and inquired, "Mr... 'Spectre?'"
"'Inspector,' not 'Spectre,'" I corrected, "and it's "Chief Inspector, and it's not my name. It's part of my job. I investigate things. Privately." I pushed my fedora back off my forehead and lit up a stogie. trying to distract him before he asked why I called myself by a Ministry of Justice title when I am not a public servant, I proffered him the box: "Cigar?"
"Yes, it is," he said, staring at my hat and trench coat. "Why are you dressed that way?"
I started to spin him a yarn about the old days, but I could see he was eyeing me warily, so I desisted. "Cease eyeing me warily and tell me what you need."
He showed me a stone tablet, rune-writ, and read from it, "Silverlock, you are summoned to appear before King Avuz this day. Fail not to appear on pain of death."
Then he grinned at me and held out his hand for a tip.