(I think I might play into the whole wickys calling my dwarf an oaf thing...)
Well... looks like UltraMagnus has a bit of cleaning up to do.
After intense partying, I've had the displeasure of waking up to wickys' inane bitching. It was fine for the first year, his scolding has apparently became such a problem that another dwarf had to take over the fortress just to make time to bother my sorry ass. Well, I have just about the worst hangover, and I'm really not in the mood for this crap at 4 am. I bellowed, loud enough for the mountainhome to hear me,
"Maybe this fortress wouldn't be such a slum if you got off of your lazy bum and actually contributed something of worth."
So Brisby decided to get a few dwarves killed in a goblin siege and throw a few valiant livestock in the way to those monsters. Maybe wickys could chew his ear out since mine's still ringing.
"You know what? Fine UltraMagnus. You can be in charge of the fortress, and we can see just how well you do at it!"
Dwarven puberty is a funny thing, the beard of a dwarf below the belt grows out to the length of the beard on the chin, and seemingly all dwarven parents say something along the lines of what wickys' whiskey-scented breathe was conveying. Well, his gamble.
"Fine, you convolution bastard."
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Not expecting the best from me, the other dwarves have decided to not renovate my office into a throne room. Just as well, no official titles have changed for fear of a public riot, but they assured me that I would still have complete control of the market as Head Mason. The one who controls the wealth controls the government.. huh.
So I've been given a quick re-tour of the fortress (I've been shit-faced drunk almost all of this time, I really am thankful that I didn't drown in a puddle or something). It is an absolute mess. There's dead bodies laying right outside, we have a bunch of loot stashed right in our foyer (Are we running a charity drive for thieves to pillage us, or something?), our upper entrance is completely unguarded, and for some reason there's a cage filled with the maggot-infested corpse of a dead panda.
Brisby's passed me on my way back to the office. I couldn't help but feel him gently brush my bust. Before turning around to slap him, a sheet of paper was noticed in my pocket protector. Please, make us safer... Hmph... pussy...
Though he does have a point. Now I'm left with nothing to do but plan for how to make the fortress "safer" as I twiddle my thumbs in my office, just sketching where I can imagine a few master control rooms. Maybe I'll have one of the dwarves make me a cute little replica of the fortress I can just keep in my quarters. I've always like "artsy" things.
Well, first things first. We have prisoners in cages, so we need something to do with them. Jail is a bit unreliable, and military executions are a bit... unsatisfying. My fingers can't help but make circles around on of my mugs. I think I have an idea for my first day on the job...