Captains Log- 21st of Obsidian
Aye, I finally got me some paper and a fuckin quill! A PROPRER cappin' always has a log, but not poor ol' Flashzom, no, here's a sorry site fer sorry eyes. A cappin' without so much as even one of dem fancy hats to throw a feadder on! Me fadder was the admiral of the Wiley Whore, and he had the fanciest hat you've seen this side of the supple hills! Anyways, I'm cappin' of de boat here, called the Filthy Dirty Sea Whore. I ain't to sure about jus how dirty dese names for the ships oughtta be, so I kept it clean and named it after me ex wife. Anyways, with this here quill and paper, well, Ol' Urist kept some hidden under the chest in his quarters. I swear to Armok I swept that damn place a hundred times (smelled like a purrin maggot den. That poor motherfucker just warn't the same since our soapmaker died, said he was a gonna quit washin on account of a tribute to 'im er some garbage like that.) Well, after I got this here quill, I decided we could take a vote on wedder or not to take 'im and throw 'im over on account a he was stinkin' the whole damn place up to high hell n we darn't really have nuff food to last more dan to mid slate, and dats if I have um' cut off der fingers fer snacks. The vote was rejected 7 to 1, so we threw him over. Damn it's good to be a cappin'.
Captains Log 27th of Obsidian-
So, er, we cracked open da storage in da hull cause we couldn't find Urist an we'd been a lookin fer him fer days, e'r since I mandated that he be a thrown with dah zombie sharks that ar floatin around, tryin to eye us up all keen like, like dey's want a snack. Well, we found a keg of fine dwarven ale, an we forgot about Urist pretty quick der. Unfortunately, by the end of the night, it warn't no where to be found. Drat the damn luck of the Filthy Dirty Sea Whore. Also, we found land, we're anchorin after dis here storm leaves. Looks mighty hospitable enough. Lastly, A potash maker has been helping me with my English skills, on account of the fact that it's troublesome he says to write with a dialect. I agreed, and then I killed him. Now it is just us brave seven dwarves (A now highly educated one, mind you!)
Captains Log 1st of Slate-
What the fuck.
How in the SHIT did this look like a good place to embark? This looks like a shitty Clint Dwarfwood movie. Remind me to blind my navigator. Is this really the kind of crap I can expect when I leave them to get wasted for a week or two? These babies need to man up damn quick if they want to survive. I heard from the king that us band of roughians would be embarking on some of the deadliest, most hostile lands known to dwarven kind. And that we must claim it in the name of the mountain homes, to show tribute to the power and ferocity of our race. We were told to expect violent seas! Zombies running rampant, pillaging the villagers and raping the sand! Oh Armok! It would RAIN BLOOD they promised us.
We are greeted by a pack of camels playing in the fucking beach water. They smile at us and go back to splashing around in little circles and rolling over when the tide comes in, happy as clams. Firstly, when the FUCK did camels learn to smile, and where the HELL are we? This sucks. Screw the king and fuck this fort.
Best of luck to Seizurefence. I'm getting wasted. Miners! Dig me a mighty shaft!
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Topic: Rainseeker's Succession (Read 8836 times)