I am Mosus.
Mosus the mechanic, they call me. And this year, change shall happen.
I have seen what has happened, and disliked much of it. This fortress is ruled by incompetents, caring little for their fellow dwarves. This is about to change. I am no great warrior, or a brave rebel, nor am I blessed by Fate. I hold no ruling seat, nor do I command any but myself. I was not born to wealthy or powerful people - they were peasants, making a meagre living off of hauling and digging in the gulags. And even from them, came nothing. I was birthed into the world, then left behind. A triviality, easily overlooked. I fought for survival each day, as I barely managed to steal enough food to make it through the week and had to watch by as dwarves basking their faded glory from days long past took the best pickings in this joke of an economy.
Nobody saw me then. Nobody looked down and took pity, or held out a helping hand. Why would they? I had done nothing of note - to the others, I was only slightly better than a corpse. I toiled in the factories, eavesdropped on conversations and meetings, hoping to learn something of value. And as I worked, I swore that one day I would rise to a position of power and change everything for the better. I saw an opportunity, and seized it without hesitation.
I am an advisor for the mayor, now but a mindless figurehead. Therein lies the power.
I make my own luck.