The one dwarven civilisation is The Trade of Bows, and the Mountainhome is called Twilighttours...
I'm going to delay embarking for a bit. In the meantime, here's how everything starts out...
From the daily blog of "Captain Archmage", a recent graduate of the Twilighttours University. It is 19th Granite of the year 20.
The stock exchange crashed today, and the mountainhomes are in chaos. Rumour has it the elves have been meddling in the economy, trying to bring it to its knees. That's not going to be the main subject of my log today, though, for a simple reason.
I don't care.
To be honest, society made me pay my way through university; by the same logic, I'm going to let everyone else pay their way out of it. I'm leaving.
To pay for university, I had to study magic. Teaching magic is the one thing that paid really well. I also learned some useful tricks. Such as rating the quality of alcohol, and divining the nature of the surroundings.
Three days ago, I got back from a geological expedition to the north. We've charted a region [TO BE FILLED IN]. We're going to found a settlement there.
How am I going to get it done?
First of all, I've foreclosed my uncle's smelter. A first year economics class teaches you one thing: When debt is sold on, it gets dirt cheap. I swapped around a dozen barrels of moonshine for my uncle's smelter mortgage, and settled it with him. This has provided me with an overabundance of ore that we can just cart with us.
"We" naturally refers to myself, and six other
poor bastards brave souls caught up in everything and the spirit of exploration to get out of the mountainhomes before everything goes into the pit expand the frontiers of dwarven society. The best place to be today is, after all, somewhere not in the Mountainhomes. We're going far to the north, about as far away as you can get without loosing supply lines.
A few +<+days+>+ later
Its snowing heavily over a mountain range. It is very dark. The scene cuts to underground; a large wagon rolls at recklessly high speeds through the streets of the Mountainhomes.
Captain Archmage (to the driver): Hey asshole, we still have six dwarves. Where's the bloody seventh one?
Driver (the driver has a long mowhawk, and is chewing constantly): Eh?
Archmage: The seventh one, we were supposed to have bloody seven of us to meet guild regulations!
Driver (pulling up an ear trumpet): Speak up sonny boy, I can't hear ya!
The wagon smashes into a cart; the spiked, steel-clad wheels split open the cart's wheels. The cart spills its load, and crashes into a inn, and the wagon skids to a halt, spilling haematite over the street. Archmage running in the opposite direction at astonishing speed, whilst a guard holds up a crossbow to the driver. The shot pans down the length of the weapon.
Guard: You're under arrest.
Cut to Archmage, who makes a right into a small alley, reaching another main road. On running out into the street, he slips on a pile of horseshit and skids into the blacksmith. A sign, stating "Foreclosed" crashes to the ground after a few seconds of nothing happening.
The blacksmith has been abandoned, but it isn't uninhabited. Two dwarves are inside, one juggling knives and another shorter one having a beer. The taller dwarf is decked out in leather. The shorter one is drinking from a mug, of which all craftsdwarfship is of atrocious quality. The item is wrapped in bands of platinum, and studded in clear diamond. In his hand is a cigar. He has a ring through his nose; while the quality is very high, when juxtaposed with his other gear, it is of worse taste than possibly imaginable. Captain Archmage skids in and crashes into the table, spilling the beer.
Short Dwarf: Hey... ya made me spill.
The shorter dwarf holds the cigar up to Archmage's forehead, but after noticing the quantity of horseshit dripping off it, he sits back and kicks him away, before standing up and spitting on the floor. Archmage gets up, drawing out a gem-encrusted sword. Fire envelops the sword. The taller dwarf remains juggling knives, completely apathetic to what is going on.
We cut back to the scene of the crash. There is fire, and violence all around.
Another guard: Order! Order!
Captain: Fall back!
A barrel cracks over the Captain's helmet and he is pulled backwards into the mob. The guard backs away, firing a few indiscriminate shots. Cut to the distance, we see Archmage and the two dwarves. The tall dwarf is uninjured, still juggling knives. The short dwarf has several injuries to his face. Archmage is covered in considerably less horseshit than before.
Archmage (to the rest of the crew): Alright let's get this show on the road.
Archmage picks up a gold nugget from the ground and tosses it into the wagon, and all get on, pulling out of the riot. We then see the wagon flying at irresponsibly high speeds towards a massively fortified area.
Cut to the Outpost Liason's office. The room is completely carved out of marble, and there are numerous gold and marble statues of the grand figures of dwarven history and legend on the walls.
Liason: Seven dwarves... to colonize somepace... I've got nearly everything covered. Just two more things...
We need your group name... and the name of the fortress you're about to found...