Intro
Granite 1, 260.You know those stupid small-talk conversations you had with your acquaintances before you were exiled here, to this devil’s icebox? With that group of assclowns you met at the tavern that you can’t bring yourself to ditch? Remember that fatass with the combover* that kept complaining about the heatwave, and kept asking “would you rather be freezing, or sweltering” over and over again, even though it was clear that no one really wanted to talk to him anyways? Eventually we all answered to shut him up, but that’s not the point. Every single time he pulled that stunt, I always ended up thinking “I’d rather freeze, I can always take off layers in the heat”.
Well I take that back. I take it all back. As I lay here face down on the frigid dining-room floors, staring at the frozen blood and sick that’s started to pool in the missing tilework, I realized several things. One, the cold is a real kick in the dick, two-
shit. Did I say several? No, it’s just one. The cold sucks arse, let me tell you that right now. To make matters worse, I haven’t eaten in what feels like eons, and I’m pretty sure that I can’t feel my legs. But such is life in Icehold.*
Then suddenly, there was a commotion. Heavy footfalls and shouting--sounds like someone’s getting their ass kicked, actually. I really couldn’t hear what’s going on. But it looked important. So with a grunt, I rolled over and pure unrefined
anger coursed through me at what I saw. It was fuckin’ limpwristed, stutterin’, an’ lisping Igor, holding, guess what, my knife! Remember that knife I told you about two months ago? Of course you don’t, you stupid bastard of a journal, I never wrote that down! Well, here’s the deal, I was tryin’ to clean myself with some meltwater from the constant bitter snow, right? So I head down to a near-abandoned stairwell, disrobed, and started pouring water over myself like I’m some prissy elven-goddess of rain, and this treacherous bastard comes trudging up behind me with clutching one of his (full size, may I add) dogs close to his chest. Well the goddamn thing barks, and it scares the piss out of me. So like any sane and right-minded dwarf, I freak the fuck out and try to stab him with this bronze stiletto I keep strapped to my inner thigh. Before you call me stab-happy, keep in mind, I didn’t know that he was behind me! It could’ve been anyone, anything! But uh, the dog nipped my hand mid-swing, and I dropped the knife, like a genius. Naturally, I grabbed my trousers and booked it after that. The ‘ell was I writing about again? Right, the bastard with me knife! So I see him just, standing there! Holding up this bronze shaft of
justice and I… I stood up, and I suddenly found myself tackling the shit out of him. Mom always said I was a bit impulsive. So he’s on the floor yelling “Oh god my spine!” and I’m on the floor yelling “My knife!”, so if you think about it, we were in the same boat. So after lumbering to my feet, I locate my knife gently rolling away, and with the haste of a frozen drunk, I snatched it up. Funny, I didn’t remember my knife being nearly as… Cylindrical. Or wooden, actually.
That wasn’t my knife.
Anyway, that’s how I became the overseer. I picked up a stick that said “Overseer”. And my parole officer said I wasn’t ever going to amount to anything, what a cocksuck. Sure, everyone else thinks my appointment was “unjust”, but fuck them! I hold the overseer stick, I make the rules around here! And my first rule, is that I’m gonna need a fuggen’ bodyguard.
Shofet, that old bastard is a freakin’ wall. A solid brick wall, going to confront him tomorrow, but first, I need to figure this mess out. I’m gonna go peek around in the old Overseer’s office. Maybe I can find some plans or something.
They will know the name of the king, and his name is Blackstock!
Blackstock…? What kind of prison name is
that?!I feel like I could’ve thought this out better.
-Blackstock “Smoke on the Water” Alathrag.
Fuckin’ Footnotes! (FF for short! See journal, I can be a clever bastard!)
*Fuck you, Innock!
*It’s not even made of ice! Some jackass though it would be funny to start using ice-colored microcline to build half the damn place! This is stupid, erase this later.
Granite 2, 260Blackstock lumbered through unfamiliar cavern hallways. The sound of beatings and screams echo off of the walls. It’s here that he remembers why he never visits this area of the underground farms. In fact, he comes here so rarely, he’d almost consider himself lost if it weren’t for the guiding sound of murder, leading him through the tunnels.
He followed the sounds, until it led him to a rough, olivine door. He was about to turn the handle, when he heard the following:
THWACK!
“DON’T YOU”
THWACK!
“EVER!"
THWACK!
“DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!”
CRUNCH!
Blackstock took a deep breath, and quickly let himself into the room, ready for whatever horrors await him inside.
And there was Shofet, beating the snot out of a cave croc.
Startled by the sound of the door, he swung around, with his fists arranged in some self-devised fighting stance.
“THE
FUCK DO YOU WANT?”
“I uh… Holy shit, is that a crocodile?” Blackstock stammered out, trying to collect himself. He didn’t want Shofet to immediately lose all respect for him in the first minute, lest he end up like the croc.
“Well it was…” Shofet began eying the gore on his fists lustily, contemplating whether it needed salt, or if it was good to go as is.
“I’ll make this quick, I’m suddenly a very targeted individual, and I need someone like yourself to help make sure I don’t end up with my brains spattered all over the dining rooms floors. You seem like you handle yourself well in a fight-” Blackstock paused, as he took one last look at that once-crocodile now turned black-pudding. “-and I think I want you on my side.”
Shofet seemed unimpressed, angry almost. His eyes narrowed, and his knuckles cracked all on their own, in anticipation of a sound beating. But Blackstock didn’t give him the chance to even speak, let alone deliver a smackdown before he chimed in.
“I have resouces! Literally
anything! We’re not even talkin’ figuratives here! What do you want? I can get you anything!
Well, anything short of leaving this damn place, but you know what I mean!”
Shofet toyed around with the idea. His mind twisted and turned with the idea of whatever he could imagine. His mind must’ve worked overtime, because it was starting to take a bloody long time.
Blackstock stood there uncomfortably, as he watched Shofet, the absolute tallest dwarf he’s ever seen, mill over the idea of unlimited power.
“More, and stronger too.” He finally bellowed out, pointing to the quivering pile of offal in the corner.
“Great… More bloodshed. I can, uh, arrange that.”
Not waiting for confirmation on Shofet's part, Blackstock nodded and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. As he walked away, he heard the sound of the beatings continue, until the sounds meshed into a horrible squishing sound.
~*~
Hello again Journal.
I need some time to think about my life decisions.
I don't know why they through the leadership dongle.
I don't know why I was the one to catch it.
But I know that this is it. This is my chance. It's supposed to be this way. For the first time in my life I feel- ohshit
It's fuckin' Honeymoon oh gods she's eyeing me again, I hate it when she does that. She better not take you away again, I'm still trying to erase that penis on page four. Better cross this filth out. Just in case. -Blackstock “Fire in the Sky” Alathrag.
Not really any gameplay here, I know. I just wanted to set everything up, and give an explanation for why a no-name dwarf suddenly has power. Expect actual content tomorrow! Oh, and sorry about the messy format, it's intentional, I swear! That'll all get sorted out on the morrow!
Author
Topic: Icehold, the Dwarven Prison: Overseers desperately needed! (Read 37689 times)