A group of dwarves huddled in a corner of the election hall as the representative tallied the results, their eyes fixed on the ballots. One of them stood silent, vacant eyes gazing in the general direction of the election but seeing nothing. The background noise was thick and ceaseless as the assembled dwarves chattered away, yet this group was strangely silent.
Perseus glanced at their leader, the dwarf she now called Admiral. His breathing was shallow, his pupils dilated. It was as if his mind was elsewhere, probably thousands of miles away, aboard a ship on the high seas. She couldn't fathom why the Admiral did this so often. She understood even less how he seemed so well informed most of the time, or how he managed to escape to the outside shoreline so often when the outer gates were shut.
Bembul prodded her with an elbow. "Quit yer gawpin', lass," he whispered, and Perseus went back to staring at the ballot.
Atir's eyes darted to and fro, scanning the entirety of the meeting hall. Her head remained stationary. This was much harder than she had anticipated. Bembul had been instructing her on this and other matters of subterfuge for months now, and while the lessons were quite welcome, she could not glean their purpose.
She saw the Corporatists near the front of the hall, paying rapt attention. The Might of Killing hovered near the center, positioned to keep eyes on all entrances. The Fellowship of Equals took up a handful of tables by the ballots. All around, dwarves were arranged and seated according to their affiliations. The many with no strong political inclinations sat with friends and family. Except for that one dwarf...
He stood in the shadows by the far wall, arms folded across his chest. He was garbed in just about the same clothing as everybody else here, with shirt and vest and trousers. She couldn't make out his face. He seemed oddly alone in this gathering of the entire fortress population. Had she seen him before?
A call from the representative snapped her out of her musings. All around, the chatter died away as the anticipation climbed. The results were read aloud, and only those completely unfamiliar with numbers could doubt the results.
The Whalers had won the election.
All eyes in the room turned to their little group, waiting for something. In an instant, the Admiral seemed to snap out of his reverie as some manner of presence returned to his face. He eyed the stage, flashed a winning smile. Then walked briskly toward the exit, the rest of the Whalers right behind him.
Alarmed and confused conversation exploded all around the room. The residents of Crownhammers had expected some manner of speech from the dwarf who would be in charge of the place for next year. All they got was a silent goodbye. Someone had the presence of mind to lob a question at Taran before he could disappear from sight.
"That's it? No speech, no announcements? How do we know what's going to happen next?"
"Ye don't," Taran replied. "When there's an announcement ta make, ye'll hear of it in short order. Afore that, we've work what needs doin'. So celebrate if ye must, then return to business as usual." Then he left, leaving a roomful of confused dwarves in his wake.
The Whalers followed Taran through the fortress, through the living quarters, down endless flights of stairs through empty floors and exploratory mining shafts. They stopped only when they reached the first lake in the caverns.
"So," Taran began. "Seems we be runnin' this boat now, lads n' lasses. Fairst things fairst. We need ta get us a handle on th' fortress stocks. Also the census. Once tha's over n' dun with, we can get some real work done."
"Bembul, you're in charge o' findin' us an official headquarters. Ye know what we'll need. Atir, Perseus, find the bookkeeper and get th' ledgers. Reg, ye're with me. There's much ye need ta learn yet."
They ascended the stairs back to the fortress together, then went on their separate ways as they reached the correct floors. Not one of them seemed to notice that they had been followed, nor that their entire conversation had been heard.
Thus dawned a new year in the fortress of exiles, with an exile running the show.
Asmoth, can you update the OP? It's a bit outdated, especially with all the new deaths. 4mask, did you put the save up anywhere?
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Topic: Crownhammers, the #1 undead, murderous bird sanctuary in the world (Read 69643 times)