"Hey Eyoya," a fellow dwarf said to me as we passed in the hallway, "Did you know that "GULLIBLE" is written on the ceiling?"
I looked up, at which point they chuckled and said "Haha, got you; there's no such thing as a ceiling! Now, as forfeit, you have to be overseer!"
Damn! I can't believe I fell for that old trick! Well, I may as well make the most of it, I suppose. At least as overseer I can start as many parties as I like.
~~~~
Now, let's see how our fair fortress of Boarpaints is faring...
After the recent unexpected freak lava flooding incident, our strength stands at fourteen dwarves and one kitten. We have no military whatsoever. Though generally okay on food, our alcohol stocks are dangerously below optimal partying levels.
Despite all that, and despite the 24 vicious, bloodthirsty unicorns baying at our doors, I'm optimistic. I mean, it's simply such a lovely time of year, isn't it? The rich smell of fertile mud drifts down the corridors...
...Visitors from afar appear on the horizon...
...And the entrance hall is full of sneaking vermin. Oh.
One kobold made a run for it and escaped empty handed. Another was trampled to death by the approaching elven caravan's mule.
The third escaped with some dog bone bolts.
Well, so long as they keep their thieving hands off our booze, I honestly don't mind.
~~~~
Disappointingly, the elves brought almost nothing of any possible use or value.
I tried to trade them a unicorn bone encrusted idol in return for that strawberry wine, but the snooty little so-and-sos turned their noses up at it.
Gentle? Really? Displaying my characteristic dwarven tact and diplomacy, I demanded that they hand over the alcohol if they know what was good for them.
Well, I think that went well.
~~~~
After the elven caravan departed for greener pastures, things quietened down a little. Poor El Rey, who'd lost several friends and family in the tragic accidental lava flood of '55, lost her mind.
Gwolfski II was found to be locked in her room for reasons unknown, so was allowed out and given a stiff drink and a new job as a metalsmith.
Finally, towards the end of Slate, some friendly faces finally appeared from the west.
Wait, are those-- Oh god, run you fools! Run!
By some miracle, those white maned avatars of death spared the migrant band and everyone made it inside without incident. The fortress now stands at a hearty population of 36 souls.
In a brief moment of lucidity between nonsensical babblings, El Rey organised a party.
I attended, but she kept asking me how a raven is like a writing desk, and other such silly things.
That's the last time I'm going to a party hosted by a mad person.
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Topic: !!THROWBACK FORTRESS!! (v0.23a | FINALE COMING SOOOOOOOOON!) (Read 115490 times)