User:LucienSadi

In the span of three seconds, a river of carp slaughtered seven hunting dogs, three war dogs, four dwarves and a passing fox.

...wait, what?

Outpost Oddomngotol, "Cloisteredghosts"

3rd Malachite, 296

Have you ever done something purely on a dare, something you know is absolutely batshit insane but that you can't resist doing anyways? Really? Bet mine can top yours. See, right now I'm standing on top of some mountain out in the puckered sphincter of nowhere, holding a pick and looking at the six other chumps who I convinced to follow me here. My job: Dig the largest, most badass underground city the Mountainhome has ever seen.

It all started maybe two years ago when me and my friend Shorast Novalsuthmam (you read that right, 'Bridebreeches') were having a barrel of rum at that hole-in-the-wall bar in the Mountainhome. We were screwing around, havin' fun, messing with the wenches a bit, when my friend Shorast suddenly gets that evil little twinkle in his eye, the one that says he's about to screw someone over. He turns to me and says, "Unib, you think you're a pretty hardcore dwarf, eh?"

Now what am I supposed to say to that? Hell, I know this guy's gonna go and land me in some deep shit, but I just can't resist a challenge like this, and the bastard knows it. I rolled my eyes and chugged another mug of rum before I growled back, "Yeah, that's right."

"See, I heard of this mountain out in the middle of nowhere that's supposed to have a vein of platinum running under it- pure stuff, worth millions, they say."

"And?"

"I don't think you have the balls to go dig it up."

Now he's done it. He knows I can't turn down a challenge. He probably just wants me out of the halls for a while so he can go after my =goblin bone totem= collection again. Bastard. Still... "Pfft. It's mine the moment I want it."

"Oh really? I'll bet you five years' supply of rum that you don't go out and get that shit."

"...Done."

And such was the beginning of the end.

I grabbed a few drunks and some passing strangers, loaded up a wagon with a year's supply of booze and a few cows and trundled off towards that damn mountain, looking for a good spot to set down. Finally found it after over a month of searching- a little flat spot just wide enough to park the wagon and not have the cows practice their sky-diving off the cliffs. Grabbed my pick, smashed a good-sized crater in the ground and yelled at the slackers who came along to start digging. Then I took a nap in the shade of the wagon while they worked. A leader's gotta have his perks.

More later, I'll need to slaughter another cow for the leather for this journal.

--Unib

6th Galena, 296

The dig's going well, lazy-ass dwarves aside. My advisor informs me that we haven't attracted any migrants for the season. No shit.

Farmer's complaining about not having seeds to plant with. Slackers are refusing to eat their plump helmets. I don't blame 'em, but as the only alternative is turtle, I don't see the problem either. Food's food, eat it or die.

Haven't told my miners the full scope of their job yet. Maybe they won't figure it out until the three of 'em 've single-handedly dug out an entire city.

...Oh look, we struck Pitchblende. Time to commission purple statues.

18th Sandstone, 296

Ah, Autumn. That happy, happy time where my friends the Traders come and visit, bearing wagonloads of steel and armor to trade for trinkets.

I promptly ordered all their trade goods 'appropriated' for the good of the city. I think this leadership business is starting to go to my head.

We've not seen any action yet- one Kobold tried to steal a mug, but the Woodcutter pureed him for me. Damn Kobolds. Hope that axe doesn't rust; we've not got any sort of metalworking operation up. Not that we've found anything worth smelting, just some Cassiterite in the food stock. Almost as useless as these Pitchblende patches we keep hitting. Maybe I'll decorate the Fish Dissector's quarters in purple. Serve him right for being useless.

2nd Timber, 296

Immigrants. Never thought I'd see the day where other dwarves would -want- to live in this shithole. 'Least I got some slave labor for hauling stones to stockpiles now. I'll draft a few useless peasants into the Bearded Army, lock them in the barracks and make them learn to spar unarmored. With axes.

Maybe we'll live up to our name after all.