Prologue
Eral Razeszuglar, King of Imketherush, The Just Handle, was supporting his forehead on his hand. As if ruling the war-torn nation wasn't enough, there was that ponce of a bean-counter always pestering him about dairy votives or some such. He'd been down to the farms eight times since he had taken the crown, and he had yet to see such a thing from the cows. Fortunately, he had just left, after explaining for three hours straight the simple fact that the total value of the mountainhomes was now precisely 100000 Urists greater.
He hadn't thought it would be like this. Seriously, just to hold his position he had had to fight two dusk trolls and a giant! Was it really so wrong to hope to actually enjoy it?!
Apparently so. Not only was he constantly in fear of death by dusk trolls and managing a kingdom that had fought two full-scale wars in the past twenty years, but now he had to live with a purvy number-fancier giving him updates twice a day!
King Eral's head snapped up. A flash of inspiration had just come to him. He would relocate the capital! Relocate it to a fortress that had been built with security in mind, and away from all these stupid trolls! Even better, he could get rid of the moron tormenting what little rest he had if he just appointed him leader of the fortress!
Now...how to get a fort built for securit - Of course! All that was needed was simply to find a location where the most savage evils imaginable were always present! Of course, means of defending such a fortress must also be necessary, but all that really takes is lava! And if the fortress just happened to fail part of the way through, well, at least one of his problems would be gone.
He called for his advisor to bring that dwarf back...What was his name again? Oh yeah...
-----------------------------------------------
From the Journal of Scaliper Idbisek, The Number One, Spring 200
Well Diary, today turned out to be a rather interesting day! I had just left the King's throne room for my 1,723rd semi-daily update on the state of the fortress when a runner came and told me the King wanted me to come back! "No doubt he wants me to go over how I discovered that our wealth is raising at an increasingly decreasingly increasing rate," I thought. It seemed the most obvious thing to think. After all, it was incredibly interesting, and he had unfortunately been overcome with weariness halfway through my explanation. The lad drives himself too hard, I think. Always so tired. I tried to set up a party for him to relax, but I had to give up. Counting out all 59099946316000000000 grains of flour wasn't that hard once I got into the groove, but the milk had gone sour by the time I had finished. Ah well. I guess baking is just not for me.
Anyway, I was therefore rather surprized when he told me, just out of the blue, that he was actually putting me in charge of an outpost! "Me?!" I said. "An outpost?! But I work with numbers, not dwarves! I wouldn't know what to do, where to begin!" "Oh, it'll be easy," he said. "Just figure out what you need and do it! I do it all the time!"
"But -" I began. "No buts," he interrupted, all glaring-like. "I've chosen you to do this, and do it you shall."
I decided that arguing with a king just wasn't worth it, so asked where this outpost was. He explained to me that it technically didn't exist yet, but that I'd be given a contingent of six extremely competent helpers to set one up. Pointed to a spot on the map where he figured we'd best set up, said it was called "Honorlabors." Sounds like a nice name to me! A place where an honest, hard-working dwarf can pull himself up by his own bootstraps. Or numbers, as the case may be. Still, I don't like the idea of travelling all the way through the miles and miles of wilderness. I've heard bad stories about these places. They say that it's just full of evil and savage beasts! Ah well. I suppose what will come will come. May as well look forward to running a place wherein the second derivative of wealth is positive!
Oh, and did I mention we leave tomorrow? O.o
The first paragraph of the next entry is written in a very speedy script, barely legible in some parts, and completely illegible in some others -
By Armok's Adamant Beard, I thought the king said I'd be getting competent helpers! The half of these sods look like they just got called out of the <illegible> dungeons! Here, let me go ask one of them where they're coming from.
The script now resumes a bold, methodical font.
Oh. Turns out I was right. Still, that doctor looks like a smart enough person. Maybe she'll discuss numbers with me on our way there. Well diary, I must put you down for a few hours now. Got to make the last-minute preparations. Like getting one of them to stuff the three wardogs(just in case) into their crates.
Well diary, we've been on the road for a ways now. That doctor and I have really hit it off! She talks science, I talk numbers...It's like a match made in heaven! The science and numbers I mean. She's not my type, I'm afraid. Very good memorizing disease names and symptoms, but just a few *<*miniforge*>*'s short of a dwarfmas towercap if you take my meaning. Anyway, it's fortunate that I have someone to talk to. Our wagon driver is totally insane! We had been traveling for a day and a half when we happened upon the most enormous moose I've ever seen. What did the driver do, you ask? He dried to RUN THE DAMN THING DOWN! He missed, of course. Like I said, terrible driver. Still, I think we were lucky it was asleep at the time. I don't like to think what would have happened if it wasn't.
Well diary, it appears my companion has fallen asleep. Guess I'll just start counting blades of grass for a while...
Most of the entries for the next year are rather uneventful, but begin to pick up again at the beginning of 201
Well diary, we've finally arrived!
This is, of course, my first chance to write since we arrived. See, the fool driver(did I mention how bad he is at driving?) attempted to park the wagon with the front wheels on a steep downslope, leading to said cart being completely destroyed and everything and everyone on it being thrown around chaotically upon it crashing into a tree. Anyway, I told the two lads handy with a pick to start digging out a rectanglular area up where I saw a lot of dirt, around 34 urists by 20. Hopefully the dirt goes far back enough that we can set up some farms. I'm afraid we only have but a little food and, worse, nary more booze, after our long journey and the ensuing chaos of the crash, and setting up production for these is my top priority at the moment. I've also ordered them to start digging out a long tunnel where there's a good bit of stone to act as our main entrance, and to hook it up to the food area after a ways.
I must say, this place is not as bad as I had feared. We've got what seems to be a stable volcano for future magma foundries, a pleasant little brook, a good number of trees for bed-building, and nary a terrifying beast in sight! I mean sure, there are the moosemen, but if those are the most frightening things we have to deal with, this will be a piece of ca Is that a werewolf?!
Author
Topic: Honorlabors - A Succession Game (Read 2507 times)