The Events of the 1st of Moonstone, 1075
Tun Paintedplunges. The unsung hero of the fortress. The tireless, invisible worker who had struggled for years to oversee the administration of duties, of foodstuffs, of monies in their secret hordes; A tireless agent in arranging the proper worker to the proper task. Tun was the lynchpin, the cornerstone, of the fortress. Tun was silent, unthanked effeciency. He liked it much better than the alternative.
Aryn watched the older administrator sweat and fidget under his gaze. He was having a hard time speaking, his throat closed up with the bubbling rage, but eventually he worked the saliva back into his mouth. Slowly he wet his lips, swallowing once before he allowed his hoarse voice to be heard.
"Where has all the water gone."
"We still have water, sir. Plenty of it."
"Where?"
Tun sighed. He knew that was the wrong answer. "It is called 'evaporation', Mr. Estetar. We couldn't fill the grand pit in fast enough, not enough was leached from the stream, and after it hit it's peak, that harsh sun stole it out from the ground."
"Why is there not enough water being pumped in, damn it. Why!"
Tun flipped the sleeve of his robe back to bare a withered, ink-stained hand. He began to tick off on his fingers. "Quote and Lucy did not have enough corkscrews to install more than four pumps at the stream."
Aryn's eyes narrowed as he cut him off. "How could they only have four? Four is nothing, where are the rest."
The counting-off continued. "Vash ran out of iron ore, and the Duke had mandated against the use of any aluminium; but it didn't matter, because Miss Dodik had planned the rest of the wood to floor over the library, we had no axles available for the increase in water wheels that would be needed."
"No!" Aryn slammed his palms down on the table. The veins in his temple were already standing out, throbbing with his growing headache. "Absolute shit! You hear me! We've had a wood surplus for over two years now! We've been buying the excess WAGONS from the mostly-dead merchants and stripping them for parts!"
"I know, sir, I know. But we no longer have the money to pay the miners to strip out the hill; and the Mason's guild has gone unpaid for a long time. The last of the resources went to finishing the Domes. The Duke has instructed them to only complete tasking that is paid for in advance...and because of that, they've been out of work for months. There is no cash flow - the merchants won't buy our goods, our citizens can't afford any luxury items, we haven't seen a cent come in since the Mountainhomes have gone dark... it's all chits and IOU's."
With a roar, Aryn flipped his table over, sending candles, and papers, and a mug with the dregs of the last ale barrel in the store room skittering and splashing about his room. His clawed at his coat, pulling free two fat bags that jingled as he moved. He hurled these at Tun's feet, one cracking over, coppers spilling out upon the floor.
"Put the miners to work on the hill, and the masons building it up. Get the excess wood bought on the cheap - may Lenod show me some form of mercy - buy the whole damn stock for copper pennies! Get them working! I want triple the pumps down there by the end of winter! I want the architects approving it this evening! GET MY PUMPS WORKING! GET THE DWARVES WORKING! GET GOING, DAMN IT ALL!"
***
OOC: Stravitch knows just how to push my paranoid buttons. Part of it is selfishness on his part, I won't get on Skype all the time and gossip into the wee hours of the morning, but ah! Such is life!
In short: Heavy Flak got himself that big-ass raise, and he's got himself tons of work to justify it (including some nights and weekends, and working on the owner and CFO's personal computers just because I'm a suckup). I also started going out with Ladies/Psychopaths after flashing fat wads of cash like a total playa' but that's tapered off after, you know, I started worrying some would start boiling my cats or waiting for me at the mailbox or hiding in the garden. Speaking of that, I also just bought myself another house, and have spent the past month moving in, unpacking, assembling and rearranging furniture and then eating pain killers like trail mix because I pinched a nerve in my lower back.
Lastly - I'm working on getting my books self-published, and that's a terrifying and time consuming process for a guy that hates change. I think we're beginning to see the slow downfall of the Big Publishing House, just like the MIAA and RIAA are seeing record decreases in profits thanks to digital distribution, streaming, and a glut of shit. There are artists making excellent supplemental incomes on their work through various platforms, so I'm branching out and experimenting. It also has got me thinking heavily on how to best format this entire thread for distribution as well. Mind you, I don't have any intention to try and personally make money off of it. But perhaps a special edition that's formatted and bound, or includes all the side-chapters from the other participants (which I think I'd need approval from, to be safe), even if it was up for just a $1, I'd want all the proceeds to go straight to Toady if he gave it his blessing.
Anyway. Hey!
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Topic: Migrursut: What Comes After The World Ends? [Epilogue] (A Community Fort) (Read 374244 times)