Okay. I realise it's less than you were probably hoping for. But I've been dealing with persistent cluster headaches that make it hard to focus, and, besides, I wanted to give you all an opportunity to pick stuff from the elf caravan.
Excerpts from
A Million Little Pichus: A Memoir, by Maximum Spin Valecrafts:
In the fifth year of the Calendar of Goldsilver, I realised it was time once again for Paddywagon Man
voluntarily to step aside and cede control to me. Our fledgling fort needed a firm hand on the rudder, and who better to provide that hand than I – I, who with wisdom and skill had saved Pocketball from fiery demonic disaster, only to see my work lost in the hands of a child the very next year? This time, though, with the Mareep Mafia at my back, I would not give up what is mine so easily.
However, the years of keeping to the shadows and building up my power had left me... bored. Not quite bored enough to crack open the Teal Seal and try my luck with the demons beneath again, but closer than I like to admit. Maybe that's why I soon realised that I'd made my move too early; back in Pocketball, I took control during a terrible crisis, and spent my overseership solving it. Now, there was no crisis, and I had no idea what to
do, no idea how to ensure my reign would be remembered as a successful one. These doubts, and more like them, plagued me for the first moments of my term.
Hoping to allay my concerns, I quickly set about ordering the artisans of Goldsilver to construct a new set of statues following images I had personally designed to remind the populace that I am always looking out for them and to remind my 'superiors' to whom they owe their stations. I reasoned that, if nothing else, I could at least make a mark on the visible, physical reality of life in Goldsilver. I had just finished listing off the last of these – a special gift just for the Baron Shidoni – when the cry went up: a team of ten goblins had been sighted nearing the walls, with a war Garchomp at their heels. The first day of my overseership was not yet out, and already disasters were arising. I had to admit, it felt like being home again.
As the last civilian stragglers were running for safety, ten goblins quickly ballooned to thirty and a second Garchomp appeared. I'm not too proud to say I was more than a little miffed to see Garchomp in the hands of the enemy, but deep down I knew that I couldn't claim them all, even though I was committed to trying. To sate my vexation, I stood at a safe distance and watched the charge of macedwarves, led by my fellow Mareep enthusiast and right-hand man Nopal, slam into the disorderly goblin ranks.
One particular macedwarf, Crazy Mebzuth, actually bit out a goblin's eye. I have often wondered what it tasted like.
And in two bloody days, the siege was broken, having never progressed past the outer marches of Goldsilver territory; and only three of our dwarves, all newcomers from this continent, were lost. With Nopal at the head of the charge, of course, the Mareep Mafia secured most of the glory, as was proper. I ordered the alert status lifted so we could begin sorting through the loot and recovering the wounded. Of the survivors, Nopal and Crazy Mebzuth had taken the most damage; xSkeletalx informed me at the time that Crazy Mebzuth had broken his spine and might be paralysed for the rest of his life. This proved technically accurate: within a day, he was dead.
Still, considering the horde of goblins we were up against, a final tally of four dead was nothing. And of course we'd all seen far worse losses back in Pocketball. All told, I considered it a win.
Like any righteous dwarf, I showed my respect for the dead by hastening to get my share of the spoils.
A few days later, on the surface, Mottled Petrel's prized war Exeggcute began to behave strangely. In my professional opinion, it seemed to be forgettings its training. It was clear that this situation could quickly become volatile, so I resolved to keep a close eye.
A few more days later, a human diplomat from the elven lands arrived. King Bëmbul informed me that he accepted the limit of 109 tree-fellings this year, as I recommended; we still have piles of logs dotting the surface, and no great need for more.
A random carpenter came to me and told me he henceforth wanted to be called AernJardos. Apparently, in his spare time, he was also the fort's second-best weaver, and these two facts were somehow related, I guess? Well, it's none of my problem. On the same day, unrelatedly(?), I happened to walk by the battle site and realised that the trees were absolutely
full of goblin teeth. I think I also saw a couple of arms hanging up in there. It really helped with the ambiance.
Soon, the elven caravan itself arrived, and, as I was looking over the preparations for trading...
... my power only grows.
King Bëmbul hastened to remind me that no querns or amulets were to be traded away under any conditions. Paddywagon Man had already cornered me in the hallway several days ago (repeated shocks to the head may have damaged her self-preservation instinct) to demand that we export no bracelets. The elves, of course, will not accept anything containing wooden components. So the only viable trade goods in the fortress were a mildewy pile of discarded clothing. Even on a new continent when your old one has been destroyed in flames, some traditions remain.
Looking over the elves' goods, I quickly realised that it would be prudent to ask my compatriots what Pokémon they would like to claim before concluding business. I wasn't sure how much we could really afford to buy, though, so I advised prudence and temperance, of which I have always been an exceptional model, of course.
The Combee is vermin. (Otherwise I would've claimed it for myself already.) But we can still get it if somebody (probably MottledPetrel, I'm guessing) really wants it. The rest are fully functional.
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Topic: But You Still Gotta Catch 'Em All - Succession Pokemon Fortress of Goldsilver (Read 75205 times)