Remember that guy that drowned?
Is it bad that my first thought on seeing that was 'You're gonna have to be more specific'?
At least the Evening Prayer Group's decisions cause misery because of incompetence rather than spite. Only three or four more fortresses and we'll have a society whose existence actually benefits people!
Funnily enough, Evening Prayer Group's drunken oligarchy seems to be remarkably efficient when confirmed to work in concert. When individual overseers make choices, things get overlooked. (must... resist... urge to point out low morale pre-Vlad)
Thinking of anyone in particular? Hmm?
Gnora sat quietly in the schoolhouse, busying herself by reading a small scroll on mathematics. With the aid of a piece of paper and a pen, she could now perform basic arithmetic, though she still preferred to count in terms of fingers and hands, simply out of force of habit. She had little time to study, and she rarely attended lectures of Tarmid. Nevertheless, she figured that there were certain things that a girl simply ought to know in the world, and she would devote some of her free time to these studies.
She had not yet spoken to the dwarf known as FallenAngel; she was worried that the crazed bug-killer would turn on her. After all, one that derives such pleasure from the incineration of insects could not possibly be the most stable fellow around. She had taken to the problem of the dwarf as she did with her problems with the other founders: she avoided him.
Gnora put down her scroll as she thought of the other founders and their allies. They always gathered together in the evening to guzzle down their alcohol until they were more intoxicated than a dwarf should have the ability become. To make matters worse, they were drinking sunshine! They had let themselves forget that they're dwarves, not men. Gnora knew that, although the founders could hide in the caverns and drink themselves to death for all she cared, she would have to save the rest of the fort.
But how exactly could she do it? She began to shudder noticeably as she thought of poisoning the sunshine barrels; such a thing would be going too far. Any direct damage she did to the supplies would be attributed to her automatically, and in her eyes the entire fortress seemed to be out for her blood as it was. Was there any way that she could subtly rid the fort of the sunshine? Her mind began to turn to politics. Such a field was, after all, what all the "modern" dwarves were getting into. Perhaps she could convince the overseer to ban the substance?