- Status
P
Pojodan
Hrm... it's been 8 days.. I don't want this to die off. Bear? Necronic? Either of you want to take your turn?
C
Chronos[Ha-G]
Ow - things deteriorated that bad, eh?
P
Pojodan
Good luck!
It's not every day a dwarf is plucked out of obscurity and asked to lead a fortress. I, however, was given exactly such an opportunity. A rather trustworthy looking fellow knocked on my door one morning, stuffed a map and a set of instructions in my hands, and then scurried off. The instructions were titled "Oaklanterns Leadership Transferring Thingy," and the map was a set of directions to the place. Apparently all I have to do is show up, present myself as their new leader, and the countless dwarves there will heed my every command.
A real fortress! One I can call my own! I could hardly wait!
After several long weeks of hard travel, I finally arrived at my destination. As I rounded the corner and the first sight of the majestic fortress came into view, I couldn't help but be struck by the impressive sight of a disastrous magma spill.
I grabbed the nearest dwarf and asked him what was going on. He first replied by questioning my ancestral heritage, including a lengthy aside regarding inappropriate relations between my mother and a one-humped camel, then mumbled something about an anti-siege device. The magma flood was, without a doubt, a highly effective defensive mechanism, and it was actually blocking my entrance into the fortress. It took me many minutes of deep thought before I thought of the strategy of walking around it.
Before I could reach the main gates, however, I nearly fell into a huge pit just outside the front entrance to the fortress.
Not sure what it's for, but it appeared the stone floor over it was, to put it charitably, half finished. Never one to suffer quitters, I immediately demanded to see the masons of the fortress. Another dwarf (or possibly the same one from earlier), made an obscene gesture at me and shuffled off. I made a mental note to throw the insubordinant fellow into the dungeon at the first opportunity, then set off to explore my new domain and find those damned masons.
Trade depot, good. Stairs, good. Wait... stairs everywhere. Which way am I supposed to go? Who designed this fortress, Dedalus?
Finally finding my way to what appeared to be the manufacturing center of the fortress, I found myself facing a stockpile of metal bars, filled to the brim, along with five magma smelters, all of them so full of clutter they were on the verge of falling into the inferno below. I made another mental note, to dig out more storage space at the earliest opportunity.
Navigating the labyrinthine stairs further, I arrive at the living area, where I finally locate the mason. Well, what's left of him, anyway.
Apparently he'd been a bit of a naughty boy not too long ago, and smashed up a few pieces of furniture, which resulted in the most reasonable punishment of a mangled left shin. That'll learn him. Problem is, now that pit outside was going to remain uncovered for a while.
I also noticed a jeweler in a remarkably fey mood, full of creative energies, but having nowhere to use them. I ordered another jeweler to build him a workshop as soon as possible. The second jeweler commented on the carnal actions he would like me to perform on his private parts, but grudgingly slouched off to do my bidding.
A rising sense of foreboding swelled in my guts, and I decided to examine the military preparedness of the fortress. No point building up piles of wealth if some light fingered kobold with delusions of grandeur was just going to filch it all. Most unsettlingly, I found that this fortress only had three full-time martial dwarves, two of whom were bed-ridden with crippling injuries.
At this point, I had a bad feeling about this.
A real fortress! One I can call my own! I could hardly wait!
After several long weeks of hard travel, I finally arrived at my destination. As I rounded the corner and the first sight of the majestic fortress came into view, I couldn't help but be struck by the impressive sight of a disastrous magma spill.
I grabbed the nearest dwarf and asked him what was going on. He first replied by questioning my ancestral heritage, including a lengthy aside regarding inappropriate relations between my mother and a one-humped camel, then mumbled something about an anti-siege device. The magma flood was, without a doubt, a highly effective defensive mechanism, and it was actually blocking my entrance into the fortress. It took me many minutes of deep thought before I thought of the strategy of walking around it.
Before I could reach the main gates, however, I nearly fell into a huge pit just outside the front entrance to the fortress.
Not sure what it's for, but it appeared the stone floor over it was, to put it charitably, half finished. Never one to suffer quitters, I immediately demanded to see the masons of the fortress. Another dwarf (or possibly the same one from earlier), made an obscene gesture at me and shuffled off. I made a mental note to throw the insubordinant fellow into the dungeon at the first opportunity, then set off to explore my new domain and find those damned masons.
Trade depot, good. Stairs, good. Wait... stairs everywhere. Which way am I supposed to go? Who designed this fortress, Dedalus?
Finally finding my way to what appeared to be the manufacturing center of the fortress, I found myself facing a stockpile of metal bars, filled to the brim, along with five magma smelters, all of them so full of clutter they were on the verge of falling into the inferno below. I made another mental note, to dig out more storage space at the earliest opportunity.
Navigating the labyrinthine stairs further, I arrive at the living area, where I finally locate the mason. Well, what's left of him, anyway.
Apparently he'd been a bit of a naughty boy not too long ago, and smashed up a few pieces of furniture, which resulted in the most reasonable punishment of a mangled left shin. That'll learn him. Problem is, now that pit outside was going to remain uncovered for a while.
I also noticed a jeweler in a remarkably fey mood, full of creative energies, but having nowhere to use them. I ordered another jeweler to build him a workshop as soon as possible. The second jeweler commented on the carnal actions he would like me to perform on his private parts, but grudgingly slouched off to do my bidding.
A rising sense of foreboding swelled in my guts, and I decided to examine the military preparedness of the fortress. No point building up piles of wealth if some light fingered kobold with delusions of grandeur was just going to filch it all. Most unsettlingly, I found that this fortress only had three full-time martial dwarves, two of whom were bed-ridden with crippling injuries.
At this point, I had a bad feeling about this.
A
Anubinomicon
Completion of the jeweler's workshop took longer than expected, the jewelers kept nitpicking about the location. Either a rock jutting out of the ground was exactly two inches too high, or the breeze was strong enough to throw them off their gemcutting, or it wasn't close enough to the food stockpile, just in case they got the munchies. In the end I "motivated" them by pointing out there was still some lava left outside, and that third degree burns would probably affect their gemcutting to an even greater extent. With much grumbling and feigned hardship, they finally got the workshop built, at which point the fey mood jeweler claimed it and hunkered down to work.
While he got down to business, I sat down beside the injured mason's sickbed, to ask him a few questions. The first thing I managed to find out was that the mason's actually a woman. In my defense, it was actually hard to tell, since she was covered in blood, plus masonry's not exactly a feminine discipline in the first place. Plus with everyone growing beards and all.
Anyway, the masoness told me all the trouble started when she got involved with the wrong crowd, particularly her new boyfriend, who taught her many new and exciting things, forbidden pleasures she'd been afraid to make hers.
Tsk tsk tsk. Young people these days.
I told her she should get her act together, dump that loser and turn herself into a productive member of dwarfdom. She then, rather brusquely, listed several of my orifices she'd like to insert her chisel. Unfortunately, at that point I received word that the jeweler had completed his task and was asking me to inspect his handiwork. It's a pity, because I thought I was on the verge of getting through to that poor girl.
The jeweler had managed to make an armor stand out of a single rough stone of Red grossular. In fact, he'd managed to encrust it with Red grossular and craft an image of mountains onto it, all with the same stone. To be honest, it wasn't a very large armor stand. I immediately ordered it set up in the barracks. Perhaps it would inspire our troops to greater heights, though at this point I would settle for it inspiring them to greater health.
Since our fighters were in no state to be relied upon, and the magma flooder would probably burn us all to death before it actually singed any goblin hide, I decided to reinforce our defenses with traps. My predecessor had ensured that the fortress was reasonably well stocked with mechanisms, though most of them were of laughable quality. Still, better than nothing. As I could find no full time mechanics among our numbers, so I asked a miller to try his hand at building the trap. Rather refreshingly, he immediately set off to work, scavenging whatever weapons he could get his hands on and attaching them to the mechanism in front of the drawbridge at the gate. While I watched, with great satisfaction, his industry, I noticed a disquieting phenomenon. The magma in the moat underneath the drawbridge appeared to be rising. In fact, it was overflowing, out of the moat and over onto the bridge itself.
Dashing frantically through the fortress, I found the cause of the problem. A screw pump was still drawing magma from the source, the magma pipe, and forcing it into a narrow pipe connected to the moat. The moat and the pipe were both filled, but the pump was still working. With nowhere else to go, the magma breached the sides of the moat and flowed outwards.
It is worth noting at this point that the miller, who'd been so polite and industrious, decided it would be a good idea to take a nap on the drawbridge. Perhaps the heat made him drowsy.
I'd noticed a room with four levers on my way into the fortress, it's likely one of them will shut down the pump. But which one? After several seconds of frantic searching, I discovered a note pasted to the wall with what appeared to be snot. "Lower right controls the Moat Filler." I put my hand on the lever, but it's too late. A snore interrupted by scream of agony and a loud hissing sound, coupled with the odor of well done muskox steak, told me my miller had perished in the heat. I pull the lever and an emergency door shuts, halting the flow of magma.
At this point, the Elven caravan from Odesareve arrived, and, being Elves, they nimbly picked their way across the magma and unloaded their goods at the depot. However, our broker, Chronos, refused to trade with them. He wouldn't even go near the depot. He kept saying something about being stuck in a meeting, but COME ON!! The Elves don't even send liasons! You expect me to believe that?!?!?
I bellow into the fortress tunnels, "Anyone who's not a lazy bum, come to the trade depot!" A thresher arrives and trades some of the narrow crap we'd captured in the last goblin ambush for some beer and plants. Since he was the only one to show any initiative, I asked the thresher to complete the weapon trap.
Chronos, apparently realizing that I'd seen through his "stuck in a meeting" charade, decided he'd help out with the traps. He'd been hiding underground too long though, and'd become cave adapted. On a trip out to retrieve a particularly far away halberd, he was nauseated by the sun and left a trail of vomit all the way across the plains. Serves him right, the lazy bastard.
While he got down to business, I sat down beside the injured mason's sickbed, to ask him a few questions. The first thing I managed to find out was that the mason's actually a woman. In my defense, it was actually hard to tell, since she was covered in blood, plus masonry's not exactly a feminine discipline in the first place. Plus with everyone growing beards and all.
Anyway, the masoness told me all the trouble started when she got involved with the wrong crowd, particularly her new boyfriend, who taught her many new and exciting things, forbidden pleasures she'd been afraid to make hers.
Tsk tsk tsk. Young people these days.
I told her she should get her act together, dump that loser and turn herself into a productive member of dwarfdom. She then, rather brusquely, listed several of my orifices she'd like to insert her chisel. Unfortunately, at that point I received word that the jeweler had completed his task and was asking me to inspect his handiwork. It's a pity, because I thought I was on the verge of getting through to that poor girl.
The jeweler had managed to make an armor stand out of a single rough stone of Red grossular. In fact, he'd managed to encrust it with Red grossular and craft an image of mountains onto it, all with the same stone. To be honest, it wasn't a very large armor stand. I immediately ordered it set up in the barracks. Perhaps it would inspire our troops to greater heights, though at this point I would settle for it inspiring them to greater health.
Since our fighters were in no state to be relied upon, and the magma flooder would probably burn us all to death before it actually singed any goblin hide, I decided to reinforce our defenses with traps. My predecessor had ensured that the fortress was reasonably well stocked with mechanisms, though most of them were of laughable quality. Still, better than nothing. As I could find no full time mechanics among our numbers, so I asked a miller to try his hand at building the trap. Rather refreshingly, he immediately set off to work, scavenging whatever weapons he could get his hands on and attaching them to the mechanism in front of the drawbridge at the gate. While I watched, with great satisfaction, his industry, I noticed a disquieting phenomenon. The magma in the moat underneath the drawbridge appeared to be rising. In fact, it was overflowing, out of the moat and over onto the bridge itself.
Dashing frantically through the fortress, I found the cause of the problem. A screw pump was still drawing magma from the source, the magma pipe, and forcing it into a narrow pipe connected to the moat. The moat and the pipe were both filled, but the pump was still working. With nowhere else to go, the magma breached the sides of the moat and flowed outwards.
It is worth noting at this point that the miller, who'd been so polite and industrious, decided it would be a good idea to take a nap on the drawbridge. Perhaps the heat made him drowsy.
I'd noticed a room with four levers on my way into the fortress, it's likely one of them will shut down the pump. But which one? After several seconds of frantic searching, I discovered a note pasted to the wall with what appeared to be snot. "Lower right controls the Moat Filler." I put my hand on the lever, but it's too late. A snore interrupted by scream of agony and a loud hissing sound, coupled with the odor of well done muskox steak, told me my miller had perished in the heat. I pull the lever and an emergency door shuts, halting the flow of magma.
At this point, the Elven caravan from Odesareve arrived, and, being Elves, they nimbly picked their way across the magma and unloaded their goods at the depot. However, our broker, Chronos, refused to trade with them. He wouldn't even go near the depot. He kept saying something about being stuck in a meeting, but COME ON!! The Elves don't even send liasons! You expect me to believe that?!?!?
I bellow into the fortress tunnels, "Anyone who's not a lazy bum, come to the trade depot!" A thresher arrives and trades some of the narrow crap we'd captured in the last goblin ambush for some beer and plants. Since he was the only one to show any initiative, I asked the thresher to complete the weapon trap.
Chronos, apparently realizing that I'd seen through his "stuck in a meeting" charade, decided he'd help out with the traps. He'd been hiding underground too long though, and'd become cave adapted. On a trip out to retrieve a particularly far away halberd, he was nauseated by the sun and left a trail of vomit all the way across the plains. Serves him right, the lazy bastard.
Summer rolled in, bringing in with it a wave of immigrants. We now numbered fifty two, enough for a mayor, and Chronos was eventually elected after a long and dirty campaign. His main opponent, Poj Odan, was neck and neck with Chronos in the polling up until the last day before the election, when Chronos simultaneously denounced negative smear tactics while accusing Poj Odan of conducting an inappropriate relationship with a mountain goat named Louise. Poj Odan immediately circulated an angry response, claiming that the relationship was purely platonic, and that actually "her name was Denise." The damage had been done, however, and voters deserted Poj Odan in droves.
Chronos's first act as mayor was to mandate the construction of platinum goods. A set of platinum goblets was immediately crafted, to satisfy his demand.
The immigrants also included a mason, who immediately got to work covering up the huge hole in front of the fortress. I also asked him to build a set of walls on either side of the front drawbridge, which would funnel any enemy attackers into a narrow corridor, where their numbers would count for nothing. This corridor was then filled with traps, constructed with serrated discs crafted from all this iron we had lying around.
The advantage to this design was that we could extend outwards the walls and rows of traps as the fortress grew and attracted stronger foes.
While digging around in the stone underneath the fortress, one of the miners accidentally breached the aquifer. This resulted in the flooding of the mineshaft, but no matter, I built a well over the shaft.
One of the immigrants withdrew from society and claimed a craftdwarf's workshop, eventually creating a bauxite earring. I had no idea why he would do such a thing, since dwarves have no time for baubles like earrings, but he insisted it might come in handy some day. I suggested we could trade it for something useful when the next caravan arrives, and he immediately suggested I perform certain unspeakable acts upon the dead body of my mother.
Additionally, Chronos mandated that we build three more anvils. No idea why, perhaps he felt the three forges we had were not enough, and we needed three more.
A human trade caravan arrived not long afterwards, and soon after the merchants arrived at the depot they immediately tried to sell us some obviously oversized armor. Dishonest merchants being one of my pet peeves, I announced we were going to confiscate all their alcohol and metal bars. The merchants were, to put it mildly, slightly miffed by this decision, though they accepted they could do little to stop us. They also suggested I had some canine ancestry. Before they left, they hinted that the seizure of their property would result in hostile relations. I replied by confiscating their food, too.
To the lesser of minds among us, this would seem like folly. Why, they ask, would I choose to voluntarily antagonize the humans? The answer is simple: humans are stupid. They don't recognize a weapon trap until they're standing on it, and the dwarven mechanism is inserting spears into their torsos with surgical precision. A human siege would provide us with weapons and armors for smelting, captured goods for trade, and bones for crafting. Indeed, I judged it to be within our best interests to provoke a human attack.
I suppose the knowledge that it would probably be my successor, not me, who would have to deal with any human siege helped somewhat.
While this exchange was going on, Chronos was meeting downstairs with the human liaison, who was completely oblivious to the highway robbery taking place at the depot. We asked for more booze.
Another wave of immigrants arrived, and I noticed we didn't have enough beds. I immediately ordered our carpenters to build more, which was when I noticed we didn't have enough wood. That's when I ordered our woodcutters to cut more down, which was when they ran across the wild muskox our ranger had been chasing. The muskox, apparently not happy with all these dwarves disturbing its grazing, decided to gore the ranger. Our mason, apparently taking pity on the disabled ranger, went out and started dragging him back to safety, until he decided that instead of helping his injured comrade he'd rather be drinking. So he abandoned the ranger in the middle of nowhere and got hammered. I tried ordering him to finish his job first, but he mumbled something drunkenly and then passed out. I decided to spare the mason's life because there were still some walls and floors that needed building.
Thus far I'd encountered many instances of insubordination, so I decided to remind everyone that I was in charge. I nailed the "Oaklanterns Leadership Transferring Thingy" to the front door, so that everyone would have a chance to read it and realize that they had to listen to me. As soon as I'd driven in the last nail, a passing dwarf mumbled something about going to the outhouse and ripped the paper from the door, taking it with him to the john.
Chronos's first act as mayor was to mandate the construction of platinum goods. A set of platinum goblets was immediately crafted, to satisfy his demand.
The immigrants also included a mason, who immediately got to work covering up the huge hole in front of the fortress. I also asked him to build a set of walls on either side of the front drawbridge, which would funnel any enemy attackers into a narrow corridor, where their numbers would count for nothing. This corridor was then filled with traps, constructed with serrated discs crafted from all this iron we had lying around.
The advantage to this design was that we could extend outwards the walls and rows of traps as the fortress grew and attracted stronger foes.
While digging around in the stone underneath the fortress, one of the miners accidentally breached the aquifer. This resulted in the flooding of the mineshaft, but no matter, I built a well over the shaft.
One of the immigrants withdrew from society and claimed a craftdwarf's workshop, eventually creating a bauxite earring. I had no idea why he would do such a thing, since dwarves have no time for baubles like earrings, but he insisted it might come in handy some day. I suggested we could trade it for something useful when the next caravan arrives, and he immediately suggested I perform certain unspeakable acts upon the dead body of my mother.
Additionally, Chronos mandated that we build three more anvils. No idea why, perhaps he felt the three forges we had were not enough, and we needed three more.
A human trade caravan arrived not long afterwards, and soon after the merchants arrived at the depot they immediately tried to sell us some obviously oversized armor. Dishonest merchants being one of my pet peeves, I announced we were going to confiscate all their alcohol and metal bars. The merchants were, to put it mildly, slightly miffed by this decision, though they accepted they could do little to stop us. They also suggested I had some canine ancestry. Before they left, they hinted that the seizure of their property would result in hostile relations. I replied by confiscating their food, too.
To the lesser of minds among us, this would seem like folly. Why, they ask, would I choose to voluntarily antagonize the humans? The answer is simple: humans are stupid. They don't recognize a weapon trap until they're standing on it, and the dwarven mechanism is inserting spears into their torsos with surgical precision. A human siege would provide us with weapons and armors for smelting, captured goods for trade, and bones for crafting. Indeed, I judged it to be within our best interests to provoke a human attack.
I suppose the knowledge that it would probably be my successor, not me, who would have to deal with any human siege helped somewhat.
While this exchange was going on, Chronos was meeting downstairs with the human liaison, who was completely oblivious to the highway robbery taking place at the depot. We asked for more booze.
Another wave of immigrants arrived, and I noticed we didn't have enough beds. I immediately ordered our carpenters to build more, which was when I noticed we didn't have enough wood. That's when I ordered our woodcutters to cut more down, which was when they ran across the wild muskox our ranger had been chasing. The muskox, apparently not happy with all these dwarves disturbing its grazing, decided to gore the ranger. Our mason, apparently taking pity on the disabled ranger, went out and started dragging him back to safety, until he decided that instead of helping his injured comrade he'd rather be drinking. So he abandoned the ranger in the middle of nowhere and got hammered. I tried ordering him to finish his job first, but he mumbled something drunkenly and then passed out. I decided to spare the mason's life because there were still some walls and floors that needed building.
Thus far I'd encountered many instances of insubordination, so I decided to remind everyone that I was in charge. I nailed the "Oaklanterns Leadership Transferring Thingy" to the front door, so that everyone would have a chance to read it and realize that they had to listen to me. As soon as I'd driven in the last nail, a passing dwarf mumbled something about going to the outhouse and ripped the paper from the door, taking it with him to the john.
Autumn came, and with it a swarm of rhesus macaques. Two fell victim to the cage traps, and I decided to start a zoo with our new prisoners. Our now-recovered ranger did an admirable job of cleaning up the remaining primates, and the carcasses were happily butchered for meat and hides.
The caravan from the mountainhomes arrived, and we traded away more narrow goblin crap for booze and metal bars. I requested more alcohol from the liaison.
The original food stockpile was filling up, so I ordered it to be expanded. The excess stone was thrown into the magma.
The ranger's successful hunting trips were starting to create an excess of tallow, so I pondered making some soap. Then I wondered what we were going to use the soap for. After all, when was the last time you saw a dwarf take a bath?
Another wave of migrants arrived, taking our total population to 67. I estimated another group of migrants, two at most, would bring us above the magic number of 80, the population that starts attracting sieges. I resolved to redouble my trap-making efforts, but I had trouble convincing the mason, who was obsessed with building the floor over that massive pit, to build more walls. Seriously, he'd been at that floor for a year already, does he never get bored?
A quick survey of the military forces showed that practically every dwarf had some form of spine or brain injury, making them useless as melee fighters. This was disconcerting, though not really surprising. I immediately ordered the crafting of crossbows, in the hope that these guys would at least prove capable of shooting things. I also designated a shooting range near the barracks, along with a channel behind the target, to catch and recycle missed bolts.
The problem though, as mentioned previously, was that the mason was obsessed with building the outdoor floor. He refused to abandon his love affair with the floor for even a moment, leaving the archery target unbuilt for now.
A craftdwarf decided it would be a good idea to make a legendary alder scepter. This seemed to be an odd decision, since we don't actually have a king here yet. (Though the optimist in me would never rule it out!) When I suggested we could send the scepter along with the next dwarven caravan as an offering to the mountainhomes, the craftdwarf immediately waved the scepter in a threatening manner while shouting obscenities, and then cradled the artifact to his chest while muttering, "Precious... yes, precious..."
The remainder of the season passed uneventfully.
(I'll finish the rest of the year tomorrow, or another day, but so far it looks like the rest of my turn's going to pass, without anything exciting. Unless, of course, I happen to accidentally pull that lever that causes magma to flood the fortress.....)
The caravan from the mountainhomes arrived, and we traded away more narrow goblin crap for booze and metal bars. I requested more alcohol from the liaison.
The original food stockpile was filling up, so I ordered it to be expanded. The excess stone was thrown into the magma.
The ranger's successful hunting trips were starting to create an excess of tallow, so I pondered making some soap. Then I wondered what we were going to use the soap for. After all, when was the last time you saw a dwarf take a bath?
Another wave of migrants arrived, taking our total population to 67. I estimated another group of migrants, two at most, would bring us above the magic number of 80, the population that starts attracting sieges. I resolved to redouble my trap-making efforts, but I had trouble convincing the mason, who was obsessed with building the floor over that massive pit, to build more walls. Seriously, he'd been at that floor for a year already, does he never get bored?
A quick survey of the military forces showed that practically every dwarf had some form of spine or brain injury, making them useless as melee fighters. This was disconcerting, though not really surprising. I immediately ordered the crafting of crossbows, in the hope that these guys would at least prove capable of shooting things. I also designated a shooting range near the barracks, along with a channel behind the target, to catch and recycle missed bolts.
The problem though, as mentioned previously, was that the mason was obsessed with building the outdoor floor. He refused to abandon his love affair with the floor for even a moment, leaving the archery target unbuilt for now.
A craftdwarf decided it would be a good idea to make a legendary alder scepter. This seemed to be an odd decision, since we don't actually have a king here yet. (Though the optimist in me would never rule it out!) When I suggested we could send the scepter along with the next dwarven caravan as an offering to the mountainhomes, the craftdwarf immediately waved the scepter in a threatening manner while shouting obscenities, and then cradled the artifact to his chest while muttering, "Precious... yes, precious..."
The remainder of the season passed uneventfully.
(I'll finish the rest of the year tomorrow, or another day, but so far it looks like the rest of my turn's going to pass, without anything exciting. Unless, of course, I happen to accidentally pull that lever that causes magma to flood the fortress.....)
Question: Am I definitely going to be the last one? Or is there probably going to be someone after me?
And if I am the last one, would you guys like me to finish my turn normally, or should I use this final winter to kill everyone off as spectacularly as possible? We do, after all, have plenty of magma.
And if I am the last one, would you guys like me to finish my turn normally, or should I use this final winter to kill everyone off as spectacularly as possible? We do, after all, have plenty of magma.
C
Chronos[Ha-G]
Unless we can grow the population of Dwarf fortress players, I suggest we actually kill this one off soon - we're more likely to draw more people in with NEW fortresses and write-ups and whatnot. I know that at least a few people were watching/reading due to the humor involved - if this game stalls and we just stick to it, we're less likely to get more people interested.
Plus, it'll give everyone who's already had a turn another one - and I'm certainly not complaining about another crack at one. We could do a new one every month or two!
Plus, it'll give everyone who's already had a turn another one - and I'm certainly not complaining about another crack at one. We could do a new one every month or two!
P
Pojodan
I'm game for a new fortress.. was kinda hoping a new version would come out recently, but it looks like progress is rather slow on it.
Flames... flowing flames... consuming all and vanishing into darkness... flowing flames...
I woke from my agitated dreams with a start, and suddenly I saw what I must do. Armok had given me a new mandate. The Blood God demanded a sacrifice... must be blood... must be flesh.
The flowing flames would come from the endless source of magma we had at our disposal. It was now time to bring the curtains down on Oaklanterns, decisively and permanently.
First, the doors in the fortress were removed. There must be no obstacles to the magma. A channel was dug to the farm level. After all that was completed, all that was left to do was to forbid dwarves from going outside, and let the juice flow.
The first victim of the scalding lava was a stray dog, chained to the entrance of the fortress, ever-vigilant until the very end. One of its puppies followed soon afterwards. I'd heard rumors that in faraway, exotic lands, roast dog is considered a delicacy. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to trade the remains of the former canines with them in the future.
Or not.
The flowing magma also ignited the foliage outside the fortress, creating a massive forest fire. Pity no goblins or humans decided to call on us right then, the potential for comedy would have been delicious.
The magma cascaded down the stairs to the dining halls and statue garden, where a party was in full swing. Dwarves, never to give up an opportunity for gaiety, even in the face of nature's volcanic fury, even as smoke poured down from the charred corpses of heartless fire, decided not to get out of the way.
With fairly predictable results.
To accelerate the process, I ordered two additional pathways for the magma to be dug right into the food stockpiles. The detonating alcohol barrels were greeted with greater sadness than the sight of fellow dwarves consumed by flames.
Chronos was the first to throw a tantrum, after being forced to watch his lover die in a fire. Several others also started tantruming, and many pieces of furniture were smashed.
Chronos also mandated that we should now not export hatch covers. Perhaps he felt a few hatches could help with the magma.
The devastation caused by the flowing magma gradually slowed, however, as the supply of magma from the magma pipe grew thinner. This was understandable, as the fortress had, unfortunately, not been designed with magma armageddon in mind. To accelerate the process, I told everyone to join the army and then stand in front of the crawling inferno.
Even in times of disaster, military discipline does not abandon dwarfkind. Just kidding. No one listened to my orders at all, and they ran around like headless chickens.
Tantruming dwarves started turning on one another, and several were struck down in the chaos. I'm pretty sure I saw Poj Odan take a bite out of Chronos before he himself was hurled down three flights of steps, cracking his skull open.
With all dwarves forbidden from going out (and the front entrance blocked by magma, anyway) hunger and thirst begin to take their toll. Several dwarves succumb to starvation and dehydration. The ones that avoided the magma, hunger, thirst and the fists of fury of their fellow dwarves go insane one by one, stricken by melancholy or going berserk.
A year passes quickly. Spring's arrival sees us with only twenty dwarves remaining, with no miners and only the mayor among the remaining nobles. The surviving dwarves are either on the verge of devouring one another, or already chewing on their fellows' bones.
Satisfied with a job well done, I leave this fortress behind, locking the front gates as I depart. The sounds of feral dwarves, rendered bestial by a year of torment, echo through the dark miasma-filled halls. Perhaps one day some brave adventurer will venture here, to investigate what happened to that legend of dwarven fortresses, Oaklanterns.
Sorry it took so long for me to finish my turn guys. I had fun, and I'd love to be part of the next one. In fact, I read about an awesome site from the Bay12 forums which I think we can use.
I woke from my agitated dreams with a start, and suddenly I saw what I must do. Armok had given me a new mandate. The Blood God demanded a sacrifice... must be blood... must be flesh.
The flowing flames would come from the endless source of magma we had at our disposal. It was now time to bring the curtains down on Oaklanterns, decisively and permanently.
First, the doors in the fortress were removed. There must be no obstacles to the magma. A channel was dug to the farm level. After all that was completed, all that was left to do was to forbid dwarves from going outside, and let the juice flow.
The first victim of the scalding lava was a stray dog, chained to the entrance of the fortress, ever-vigilant until the very end. One of its puppies followed soon afterwards. I'd heard rumors that in faraway, exotic lands, roast dog is considered a delicacy. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to trade the remains of the former canines with them in the future.
Or not.
The flowing magma also ignited the foliage outside the fortress, creating a massive forest fire. Pity no goblins or humans decided to call on us right then, the potential for comedy would have been delicious.
The magma cascaded down the stairs to the dining halls and statue garden, where a party was in full swing. Dwarves, never to give up an opportunity for gaiety, even in the face of nature's volcanic fury, even as smoke poured down from the charred corpses of heartless fire, decided not to get out of the way.
With fairly predictable results.
To accelerate the process, I ordered two additional pathways for the magma to be dug right into the food stockpiles. The detonating alcohol barrels were greeted with greater sadness than the sight of fellow dwarves consumed by flames.
Chronos was the first to throw a tantrum, after being forced to watch his lover die in a fire. Several others also started tantruming, and many pieces of furniture were smashed.
Chronos also mandated that we should now not export hatch covers. Perhaps he felt a few hatches could help with the magma.
The devastation caused by the flowing magma gradually slowed, however, as the supply of magma from the magma pipe grew thinner. This was understandable, as the fortress had, unfortunately, not been designed with magma armageddon in mind. To accelerate the process, I told everyone to join the army and then stand in front of the crawling inferno.
Even in times of disaster, military discipline does not abandon dwarfkind. Just kidding. No one listened to my orders at all, and they ran around like headless chickens.
Tantruming dwarves started turning on one another, and several were struck down in the chaos. I'm pretty sure I saw Poj Odan take a bite out of Chronos before he himself was hurled down three flights of steps, cracking his skull open.
With all dwarves forbidden from going out (and the front entrance blocked by magma, anyway) hunger and thirst begin to take their toll. Several dwarves succumb to starvation and dehydration. The ones that avoided the magma, hunger, thirst and the fists of fury of their fellow dwarves go insane one by one, stricken by melancholy or going berserk.
A year passes quickly. Spring's arrival sees us with only twenty dwarves remaining, with no miners and only the mayor among the remaining nobles. The surviving dwarves are either on the verge of devouring one another, or already chewing on their fellows' bones.
Satisfied with a job well done, I leave this fortress behind, locking the front gates as I depart. The sounds of feral dwarves, rendered bestial by a year of torment, echo through the dark miasma-filled halls. Perhaps one day some brave adventurer will venture here, to investigate what happened to that legend of dwarven fortresses, Oaklanterns.
Sorry it took so long for me to finish my turn guys. I had fun, and I'd love to be part of the next one. In fact, I read about an awesome site from the Bay12 forums which I think we can use.
- Status