Part 12: by StarkRavingMadJournal of Ral "StarkRavingMad" Swaeringen, Late Winter, 1054:
So there I am, last night, tending my tavern in Kinmelbil, when in walks this slicked-back noble looking cocksucker and tells me I have the great honor of accepting the Overseer position for one of our outposts. Honor, my hairy dwarven ass. More n'likely someone found out about that gold strike I had my men working out in the Hills of Sorrow and this is their way of getting me out of the picture while they move in on it. But what can I do? The order is signed by the King himself, straight from Kadol Fucking Logemfikuk, which means any attempt by yours truly to wriggle out of this "great honor" is going to end up with me getting a hammering from the Captain of the Royal Guard.
Nice situation, eh, Chief? Well, pain or damage don't end the world. Or despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a dwarf... and give some back. That's what I always say.
I take a look at the maps, and sure enough, this outpost is stuck out in the middle of nowhere, smack in the Smooth Points of Pride. "Boatmurdered" they call it, a name which doesn't bode well for much of fucking anything.
This morning, I'm getting my supplies for the trip together and what do I see but a bunch of hooplehead cocksuckers loading up their wagons and lo and behold, those horses are all pointed the same way as mine. I make a few quiet inquiries and they're all headed to fucking Boatmurdered too. I set out with all haste, figuring it would be best if I got a little head start on these assholes, so maybe I could get the place in some sort of order before they get there.
Now I'm taking a quick breather and I figured I should keep some sort of record of this trip, especially since I'm not so sure the plan isn't for me to be fucking stabbed in the back some other way and end up thrown into a bottomless chasm or something. Document what's happening, you see, then at least if I get bumped off, there will be some record of how it happened and maybe my men back in the capital can get revenge for my poor damned soul.
I probably won't be writing much more in this thing until I get to Boatmurdered, I need to move quick to stay ahead of the rabid pack of immigrants breathing down my neck. I swear, I can hear their mules already.
Early Spring - 1055:
Well, I made it to Boatmurdered, and my initial impressions can be set forth in three words:
I'm going to include a few quick sketches of the place, artist's impressions if you will, so excuse me if these are a little rough, but I have to fucking try to get my mind around what I am facing here.
To begin with, all of our fucking workshops and trade goods are sitting outside in the fucking rain. One of the previous Overseers must have been some sort of shallow-dwelling skygazer because having our production out here is just inhumane to the poor hoopleheads who have to stand out there. I almost went fucking crazy having to be under the goddamn open sky for the whole trip out here, instead of in a nice safe cavern, and some of these poor bastards have been working out in the open for four years now. Four years standing out in the rain, or even worse, under that horrifying yawning expanse of blue open sky.
Fuck that, I'm moving everything inside.
Oh, and you see all those 'E's I drew down there at the bottom? Elephants. The previous Overseer must have had some sort of sick fucking fascination with them, because we have elephants everywhere. Elephants in cages, elephants in the halls, elephants shitting in the dining room, everywhere. I don't know what to do with them, I guess starting butchering them and hope they make a good roast.
You may also notice the lack of a road or a bridge to the west. Apparently in an excess of fucking caution, the previous Overseers blocked off the entire mountain with rivers, leaving no trade route for the human caravans. I'm going to fix that as well. I'm a businessman at heart, and the caravans will come through before I am done here.
A few other drawings for you:
Most of the poor bastards living here are in two square rooms, with a chest but not even a fucking cabinet. I'm not even going to try and fix that for the current population, but I think we can do a little better for the new cocksuckers on the way.
Here we have a gigantic hall where the roof is held up by fucking matchsticks and a stiff breeze is going to make the whole thing collapse. I don't know what kind of suicidal maniac put this together and I'm not going to change it now, but you can bet I'm not sticking one fucking foot in there.
I have a lot of work to do.