cabbitzilla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabbitzilla) wrote2008-10-14 06:42 pm
cabbitzilla) wrote2008-10-14 06:42 pm
(no subject)
28th Opal, 203 - Mid-Winter
Everything has gone to hell. It started with the Mayor banning pewter exports; um, excuse me Ms Mayor, we don't even HAVE any pewter. Arguements broke out over whether the old prospector (prospectress?) had a secret stash of metal hidden away. And then our blacksmith barricaded himself in his workshop with the silver and brass bars we'd bought from the last trade caravan and four bins of blood opals. And what did he make, you ask? He made a freakin FLOOR GRATE. Out of SILVER. I'd pound my head on the wall, but they're... wait, you don't know that yet, now do you. Most of us were standing there shaking our heads and muttering oaths (mostly involving locking that fool blacksmith in a stockroom) when up runs a peasant babbling about there being no more plump helmet. No sooner'd he gotten it out when we heard a horrendous crash outside the inner gates. Investigation by yours truly discovered that the other two peasants had smashed in the doors of the trade depot and gutted it. And that's when it all went to hell like I said earlier. Panic set in and soon there were dwarves running all over the place beating up other dwarves and generally wrecking the place. I watched one poor bastard bust down a beautiful shale door with his head. Me? I'm in the dining room, having bolted the inner gates. Coward? Me? Horseshit. I'm SMART, you hear me? I'm alone in here and I've got some plump helmet spawn to plant and a small patch of dirt. I can rig up a still pretty easy. I'm gonna weather this mess and then be here to meet the soldiers that'll be showing up when the courier fails to return. One of the fisherdwarves gutted him. Very messy business, that. I can hear 'em whoopin and hollerin out there. Times like these remind a dwarf what's REALLY important in life. Which means I need to get that still working ASAP...
Everything has gone to hell. It started with the Mayor banning pewter exports; um, excuse me Ms Mayor, we don't even HAVE any pewter. Arguements broke out over whether the old prospector (prospectress?) had a secret stash of metal hidden away. And then our blacksmith barricaded himself in his workshop with the silver and brass bars we'd bought from the last trade caravan and four bins of blood opals. And what did he make, you ask? He made a freakin FLOOR GRATE. Out of SILVER. I'd pound my head on the wall, but they're... wait, you don't know that yet, now do you. Most of us were standing there shaking our heads and muttering oaths (mostly involving locking that fool blacksmith in a stockroom) when up runs a peasant babbling about there being no more plump helmet. No sooner'd he gotten it out when we heard a horrendous crash outside the inner gates. Investigation by yours truly discovered that the other two peasants had smashed in the doors of the trade depot and gutted it. And that's when it all went to hell like I said earlier. Panic set in and soon there were dwarves running all over the place beating up other dwarves and generally wrecking the place. I watched one poor bastard bust down a beautiful shale door with his head. Me? I'm in the dining room, having bolted the inner gates. Coward? Me? Horseshit. I'm SMART, you hear me? I'm alone in here and I've got some plump helmet spawn to plant and a small patch of dirt. I can rig up a still pretty easy. I'm gonna weather this mess and then be here to meet the soldiers that'll be showing up when the courier fails to return. One of the fisherdwarves gutted him. Very messy business, that. I can hear 'em whoopin and hollerin out there. Times like these remind a dwarf what's REALLY important in life. Which means I need to get that still working ASAP...
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