First of all -
(!!!!!SPOILERS!!!!!)Secondly, I know some of the events that I emphasize in this story are probably ad nauseum for DF veterans, but they were significant to me, and I had fun writing about them. One of the great things about this game is that every fortress adopts its own idiosyncrasies and develops its own personality. While this story is no boatmurdered, I thought I'd share it in case any wished to read it.
The Story of "Notchaxe" Notchpaddles
This is the story of my first great warrior, "Notchaxe" Notchpaddles the Cooperative Heather of Lands, citizen of the fortress Ringamuses.
I was playing my current fortress, Fortuneanvil, in version 31.25 and all was well. My Baroness was happy, my food and drink stocks were high, and my military was small, but extremely tough, and outfitted in the finest adamantine gear a dwarf could hope for. I was really enjoying some of the stories that were developing from this fortress. I especially liked the story of the speardwarf, "Lancelyn" Copperpatterns the Equivalent Immortal of Gilding. She had endured the hardship of losing many comrades, and had even been to the brink of death herself, but she recovered to become my greatest and most indestructible warrior. However, I kept thinking to myself that none of my warriors, even Lancelyn, compared to the first great warrior of my DF career.
I had fond memories of Ringamuses, and of its champion. I decided to fire up the old version, 31.12, and get another look at it. I loaded it, pressed 'u', and navigated to Notchaxe. There she was, finishing off the last Troll of a mighty siege. I looked at her stats. Legendary Axedwarf, Legendary Shield User, Great Armor User, Legendary Fighter, Accomplished Dodger. I smiled as I surveyed her kill list of over a hundred goblins, trolls, rogue humans, and one bronze colossus. I looked at her battle report and it read ".... severed part sails off in an arc. ..... severed part sails off in an arc. etc.". I took a look around the fortress and quickly remembered why I had stopped playing. I, unlike Notchaxe, had not become used to dealing with tragedy.
Within the first year, Ringamuses had gained access to steel, magma, and adamantine. I quickly equipped my fledgling military with the finest gear a bunch of green rookies could ever hope for. The next year saw many immigrants. Among them were several promising warriors. Particularly of note were "Leonidas" Spikesrag, "Chopper" Jadecraft, and "Notchaxe" Notchpaddles. They were drafted right away, the first being handy with a spear, and the latter two well versed with an axe. They quickly proved their merrit, and became what looked to be the foundation for a very solid defense. Shortly thereafter, an event occurred that changed the face of the fortress permanently.
One day, as my metalworkers were slaving away for the good of Ringamuses, a hideous beast appeared. It was a great slug that spread deadly dust as it oozed its way towards my terrified laborers, sending them tearing up the stairs, screaming the whole way. I sent in my brave warriors to dispatch it. The beast didn't go down easily, but eventually it succumbed to the onslaught of cold dwarven steel. Notchaxe had been sleeping, and only arrived as the final blows were being dealt. The monster was gone, but the greatest damage was yet to come.
All warriors that took part in the battle were stricken with a mysterious infection. They were taken to the hospital where the infected tissue was removed, and I thought all was well. Chopper suffered slightly impaired vision, but she seemed to be fine in subsequent battles. However, the cat population had gone quite unchecked, and the kittens played gleefully in the remains of the hideous slug. Soon enough, I had a horde of rotting Kitties roaming my halls. The rot spread to the livestock and to the civilians. I ordered all animals butchered, creating three butcher shops to expedite the process. My hospital was overflowing with invalids. Dwarf after dwarf were brought in to have rotten tissue removed. Some were okay, some needed repeat visits, and some did not survive. It seemed soon that every dwarf had endured at least one bout with the rot. Every dwarf, that is, except for Notchaxe. She seemed immune. What's more, she was beginning to excel well beyond any of the other fighters in my military. In each attack the fortress suffered, over half of the invaders fell before her blade. She had acquired a beautiful artifact adamantine battleaxe, and they made fast friends. Zamothavog "Venomdredges" it was called (friggin sweet name right?). It menaced with spikes of faint yellow diamond, and it had an image of ITSELF on it made in galena. Her skills were skyrocketing, and no-one could touch her. Any blow cast in her direction was dodged or blocked. Literally ANY blow. I remembered remarking on this as I carefully inspected all of her battle and sparring reports. I was convinced the armor was completely unnecessary. However, life was not a bed of roses for Notchaxe, nor for the fortress. As each ambush or siege came and went, more of the lesser dwarves fell, and more were drafted to fill the vacancies. In every battle, one or two of the better warriors would fall as well. Some had become legendary, and had amassed fairly impressive kill lists, only to eventually be brought down in the great sieges. There was Highlander the swordsdwarf, Phalanx the speardwarf, Hammerella the hammerdwarf, and Sniper the, strangely enough, elite wrestler. It wasn't for lack of skill, and certainly not for lack of sufficient armor. The constant warring just seemed to take it's toll. It got to the point where the only fighters left were unskilled random shlubs, and Notchaxe, Chopper, and Leonidas. Migrant waves would come. Those with any combat skill were drafted. those with no combat skill were drafted. Cue siege, cue dead recruits, rinse, repeat. It went on and on like this. This brings me to the current state ... almost.
As I said, I was admiring Notchaxe and her current and past handiwork when I realized the horror of her home. She was ripping apart a troll that had come through a floodgate that I had mistakenly left open. The waterway had been created to drain a lake into a new training room where I would teach my dwarves to swim, in case the great Notchaxe were to dodge her way into a pond while dueling with a dragon or a titan or something. The troll had blown its way through my floodgate, through a wall of metal bars, and through my best engraver, Scribe. There he lay, beaten to a pulp, his corpse sprawled across the flooded floor. A great loss indeed, but endurable. I then looked at the surface where the majority of the battle had taken place. Leonidas was there, dead. Not far from him, Chopper lay helpless, bleeding, dieing. The last of Notchaxe's mighty comrades were gone. She stood alone now. Ringamuses could survive. It could carry on. With every new immigrant wave a new set of doomed threshers, milkers, and weavers would be drafted to be Notchaxe's meat shields. This fortress did not prosper. Its trade was death. It died in great number, killed in greater number, and started over again. There was no happiness here. There was no glory here. From rot (which continued albeit on a very small scale) to the bloody, vomit-filled meat grinder battlefield, all that the dwarves here knew was pain. At least that was my initial reaction upon returning as overseer.
I was initially forlorned and disillusioned when I recalled the truth about this place. The fond memories seemed manufactured. However, I eventually realized a vital flaw in my thinking. I was used to Fortuneanvil where prosperity was the purpose. The military was solid and unrelenting. It was unified. It did what most defense organizations are meant to do. It persisted, holding off all intruders, and allowing the citizens to enjoy their lives as if no threat existed. Ringamuses was not Fortuneanvil. Ringamuses existed for one thing. Ringamuses existed for the glory of Notchaxe. It lived and died with her. If she had fallen in any of those sieges, it would have been wiped clean off the map. Her glory was theirs. Scribe did not die in vain. Leonidas and Chopper had not died in vain. The massive dross of no-skill goblin fodder peasants had not been drafted, and killed in vain. Ringamuses certainly was in the business of death, but business was good. All throughout the land stories must have been told of the great Notchaxe Notchpaddles the Cooperative Heather of Lands and her horrible axe, Venomdredges. The citizens of her home were there to make a point. All who make themselves enemies of the mountainhomes will die. They had created the perfect killing machine. They fed it, nurtured it, then released in upon the world. This was no sad place. Do you think migrants don't know the score when they travel to Ringamuses? Do you really think the animal dissectors and novice woodcrafters think they are going to work their former trade? They know what fate awaits them. For them, it is an honor to die alongside Notchaxe. If they can draw attention from her for 2 dwarf seconds in order for her to kill more efficiently, then they have done their job. There is only one problem. Killing trolls and goblins is no longer a statement to the world. There is only one thing left to do.
The preparations will have to be made. The gates will be shut. The outside world no longer exists. The terror about to be unleashed must stay within. Her armor is good, but the few pieces that aren't masterwork must be replaced. The few doomed souls that will go with her must be outfitted according to such a glorious end. The scribes must fill any unmarked surfaces with all previous events. They must be furiously set to work as future events unfold. History must be recorded. What miner will make the cut? Will I send a peasant down to pierce the turquoise tube? Not a chance. The honor belongs to one of the original seven that have built all that may soon be destroyed. Besides, since when have I let a non-legendary miner even dream of touching that precious metal? Will I wall her in so that Ringamuses will not be overrun? No! As I said, Ringamuses lives and dies with Notchaxe! Her fate is theirs! Without her, there is no Ringamuses! How will her story end? Can the immortal evils of the deep do what no mortal can accomplish? Will she be granted her beautiful death, or will she transcend earthly dwarfness and join the ranks of the dwarven diety? Onward for the glory of Notchaxe! Onward for the glory of Ringamuses and the mountain homes! May those who have given their lives for this moment watch as it comes to fruition!
I think I'm going to need a fitting soundtrack for this battle. What do you think? -
Led Zeppelin - When the Levee Breaks (preparation)
The Black Angels - Young Men Dead (final preparation)
Muse - Knights of Cydonia (the battle)
Author
Topic: The Story of Notchaxe Notchpaddles (Read 510 times)