The small crowd of dwarves scarcely filled the crumbling audience chamber of Labordrums. Among them were dwarves from every corner of the Lance of Wringing, which was to say, not many. The assembled crowd represented the entirety of their once-proud race, now numbering just under two hundred – a crumbling race, in a crumbling fortress, in a crumbling world.
The crowd grew silent, and all eyes turned to Queen Ustuth Painttrammeled, who now mounted the wobbling podium. Pausing a moment to steady herself, she spoke.
“People of the Lance of Wringing… nay, people of
dwarvenkind, our time on this world grows short. We have long known that this world is coming to an end. We cannot know how, or why, only that it is coming, and that, I am saddened to say, we are powerless to stop it. My husband – Sodel bless his soul – long feared, as I am sure do all of you, that this would mean the end for our race. Take heart, my brothers and sisters, for there is hope. For though my husband feared the end – Sodel bless his soul – he also envisioned a plan to escape it. I shall leave it to Master Kandor to explain.”
Another dwarf stepped forward. This one was wearing the red garb of an engineer, a color that blended almost perfectly with the vibrant hue of his beard. He mounted the podium, sending it into another fit of swaying. He grabbed the edges of the podium and flung his weight hard to the left. It let out a loud
creak, and swayed no more.
“Yes, thank you your Highness. Well, as our philosophers have long known, many other worlds exist beyond our own. These are separated by a vast expanse of emptiness, an expanse I like to refer to simply as ‘space’. Now, before he passed, King Iden – Sodel bless his soul – developed a method by which we dwarves would be able to travel through space to another, better world. He proposed the construction of a large ship, propelled through space by a jet of fuel. The first phase of this project, the fuel, has already been procured. It's something you are all quite familiar with. As the old adage goes, ‘the finest'… well, why don’t you see for yourself? Urist, if you would please demonstrate?”
A third dwarf came forward, wearing heavy armor and a metalsmith’s mask over his face, followed by two more carrying a large cask that was instantly recognizable to all present: Dwarven ale, and of a particularly high quality, at that. They laid the cask on its end and stood back, as Urist cautiously approached the seemingly innocuous beverage. He turned the knob on the spigot, a tiny dribble of amber liquid flowing out onto the lid. Urist leaned in close to the tiny stream of booze, lifted his mask just enough to cup his hands over his mouth, took a deep breath, and bellowed,
“
SHIIIIIT!”
As soon as he had done this, he turned and dove to the floor, just as a jet of flame erupted from the top of the barrel, hurling the iron spigot straight up and embedding it into the ceiling. Dwarves dodged left and right to avoid the barrel as it ricocheted about the room, before it finally slammed headlong into the already decrepit podium, toppling it and sending the Queen and engineer plummeting all of three feet to the floor. When the dust had settled, Queen Ustuth stood, and spoke.
“Ah, yes, Thank you, Master Kandor, for that, uh, ‘demonstration’. Now, what do you have planned for phase two?”
“I have chosen a suitably remote location,” he answered, withdrawing a large roll of parchment from his beard, “at which to begin construction of our vessel, Ucatzuglar Nitom, ‘The Beer-Ship of Planets’ ” He held up the map for all to see:
“Tomorrow morning, a preliminary build team, consisting of myself and six others, shall depart for the site to make an assessment and lay groundwork. Six of
you. Now, do I have any volunteers?”
(I genned a ‘smaller’ size world in which all races are reduced to about a hundred or so each. I figured, ‘Hey, there’s a new version coming up soon, why not make one last fort to wrap it all up?’ Post your dwarf’s name, skills, and any supplies you want.)
Let’s send this version out with a
bang.
