Ahoy folks! I'm a new player, and new to the forums, so sorry if this is the wrong place to post this.
I lost my first fortress to a were-antelope, and my second because I didn't know how to make mugs (or build wells, for that matter... but the demands for mugs haunt me to this day). My third batch of dwarves has survived 7 years, and I've been enthralled watching as one family in particular suffers tragedy and demands I live up to their standard of courage and glory. I thought some of you would enjoy reading about them:
A group of seven dwarves, The Gloved Hatchets, set out from the civilization of The West Gates to a site where they were promised: a river, no aquifer, a flux layer, shallow metals, and deep metals. So there on a peninsula amidst the Uncommon Seas, they founded the dwarven settlement of Oslanîton, "WoundHalls". When they arrived at the embark site, they found they'd been lied to. The "river" was nothing but a dried up wound in the earth 30 tiles across, with no fresh water in sight. And the rock at the bottom of that river bed? Basalt. Beneath their feet they had 4 layers of clay, 5 of igneous extrusive basalt, and then as much gabbro as they could ever want. No flux, no coal.
The fortress was unremarkable. They had plump helmets below ground and cows pasturing above. The stone crafter, having heard rumors of a distant fortress that descended into madness for lack of mugs, frantically turned out as many mugs as possible. He eventually went mad and locked himself in his workshop for weeks. When he emerged, it was with artifact in hand - Libadosal, or "Praisesang", a basalt mug. The dwarves would go to the tavern just to take turns drinking from Praisesang, with images in black bronze of two blood orange trees. Spirits were high. After two waves of migrants they were at about 24 dwarves. Some of them had the same first names as old dwarves, so they got nicknamed after the month of their birth: Obsidian, Hematite, and a few others. They settled in and everything was great thanks to a thriving trade in stone crafts. Then there were two events that would define this fortress for the next decade.
Spring arrived, and the next migrant wave showed up with THIRTY SEVEN dwarves, including one Solon Imush, Stone Carver. So Solon was farting around on the surface doing I don't know what but not crafting stone, when "The Rampage of cyclops Righttin the Cloudy Ancient" began. As soon as the cyclops crossed the edge of the map, he rushed poor Lolor (Loving Husband, Lover of pink tourmaline) and punted him 10 tiles away. Lolor's family then rushed out, barehanded, to avenge Lolor and defend the settlement. At the front lines were two lovers, Obsidian and Rin, who were barehanded but fought like dwarves possessed. Rin smashed open both her hands, but continued to pummel the cyclops. Splatterings of Righttin's blood still stain some of the less used hallways, even 5 years later. Eventually it went down, but not without the loss of Obsidian.
"Rin Naquuvcocu has changed her profession to Beast Hunter."
Rin was brought to the hospital, but there wasn't much that could be done for her. She lost the ability to grasp in both her hands. She sat at the tavern and told stories, but over time became more and more weak and thirsty. A pump was created to desalinate the ocean water, and a trench dug to bring it into the tavern, but she wouldn't drink. She could no longer grasp Praisesang or Obsidian, and life wasn't worth living. A tomb was prepared for her, a place of honor at the center of the fort, and before long she was buried there.
The newly elected mayor saw the need for a military, so he ordered one trained, led by Hematite. They were equipped with crossbows and silver hammers, Galena being the one economically important material the site had to offer. Until they were ready, the butchering of puppies was suspended, and all dogs were to be trained for war by Metthos: a strong and quarrelsome dwarf who liked to brawl, valued loyalty, and had a cruel streak. She was perfect. Soon wherever she went she'd be followed by a trail of about 30 dogs and puppies [chewing on my frames per second].
Solon Imush, meanwhile, was still in the field with wet trousers. He started going to the mayor and complaining about having to see dead bodies. Then he complained about not being allowed to wander (the surface was off limits until the military was ready, due to lessons learned in a goblin seige). Then he complained about the lack of decent meals (which was a lie, they had stockpiles of lavish meals made from a vast variety of ingredients). Then he complained that he was under stress. The mayor could see where this was going. He had read about tantrum spirals and the importance of mugs, but this guy was a spoiled brat and impossible to satisfy. There was one option left - exile.
He attempted to exile Solon Imush, but the number of people that would leave with him was enormous. Maybe there was a second option: If Woundhalls had a holding of it's own, Solon Imush and his family could be sent there. So he waited for the next goblin siege, and while the cage traps were being reloaded he sent "The Coastal Hammers" to take Pastquiet, a nearby settlement of ~10 goblin.
The Coastal Hammers were successful but the mayor wasn't fast enough in implementing his plan. Solon Imush threw a tantrum, killed a dwarf, and crushed the leg of the Jeweler, Sibrek. The captain of the guard, Dôbar Lorbamottan, took him into custody and caged him while he waited for trail: murder, defacing a statue, and defacing an engraving.
[This is where I have to switch back to first person, because I'm completely unaware of what's happening. I think there's some kind of path finding problem, because my alerts are full of "Jeweler stopped task store item in bin: interrupted by a dwarven child". I'm trying to figure out what's going on, examining each dwarf one by one - and after like three hours of making charts and list of who is interrupting who, a pattern emerges: There are about THIRTY SEVEN dwarves with strong family ties to Solon Imush, all centered around the dwarf Zutthan Risen who is basically the godfather of a crime family that is now trying to take my fortress by force. A child dies in the fighting, Kib Logem. I exile all 37 of them. Some make it to the edge of the map, but others are still fighting. It's a full blown loyalty cascade. The huge and newly constructed tavern and adjacent (irigated!) farmland is now a bloody battlefield. I don't know how to stop it.]
Then Mestthos got thirsty and went to the tavern. As she threw open the doors and saw the tumult before her, a wave of war and hunting dogs crashed through the opening. Did I mention dogs are always loyal? Zutthan was slain by the dog Athel Snarldye, and he wasn't alone. It took a month to bury the dead. Bembul Uzole, the poor man, had to endure the decay of his child.
"Mestthos felt _satisfied_ at work." (with thanks to my brother for the drawing)
Fall came, and with it the dwarven liason. Woundhalls was made a barony due to their holdings in "Pastquiet" - would we like to nominate someone for elevation? [Here is the one place I cheat: I copy the DF folder and open up a second instance of the game so I could examine my dwarves in detail. Mestthos is the hero of the day, but she's cruel and merciless. Hematite is stable and good natured, but rude. What about that dwarf I made Captain of the Gaurd? I wanted someone in that position who was merciful, good natured, loyal, and undemanding - Dôbar Lorbamottan. I check her family relations to make sure she's not related to Solon Imush: Rin Naquuvcocu, Beast Hunter - Mother. Obsidian Kolonshen, Wrestler - Father. I didn't know it, but Rin and Obsidian have family members in all of the most important roles in my fortress.]
"Dôbar Lorbamottan, baroness of Pastquiet, has mandated the construction of Bolts."
Winter passed uneventfully. Migrants were now checked for family affiliations before being allowed in. All the furniture was hauled out of the the soil layers of the fort and moved into proper stone floored rooms. Surface level fortifications were built, including a barracks/archery tower overlooking the dry riverbed, the direction from which the goblin usually approached. A silver drawbridge and pit trap were constructed in the stone layer, separating the outside fortifications from the earthen stronghold. The fort entered its 6th year.
With the arrival of spring came the elvish ambassador, who warned that they had "disrespected the trees". [At this point I should mention that I can now read and understand the world map, and now realize that I embarked far away from the rest of dwarven civilization, out in a wasteland, surrounded to the north by a dark human fortress, and to the south by the largest fortress in my world: The Dark Goblin Fortress of Stockadehatred, Population: ~10000, Civilization: The Born Hate, diplomacy: War.] The mayor couldn't risk war with the elves, so he halted all wood collection, which halted the silver industry.
After a season of nothing but stone crafts and farming, the baroness Dôbar Lorbamottan was done with that shit. She walked to the crafting workshop in the middle of the fort, claimed it as her own, and demanded logs. No secretive stuff, no drawings - loudly so that everyone can hear:
"I must have logs!"
Damn, that's a hardcore dwarf! She knew she'd go insane and die if the mayor didn't comply, but she threw down the gauntlet anyway. "Are we elves or are we dwarves? I will not live in a fortress without burning forges!" The mayor ordered the deconstruction of a workshop built with saguaro rib logs, but it wasn't enough. Everything else has already been turned to charcoal. The mayor finally gave in, and sent the wood cutting team out with orders to fell one of each kind of tree.
Dôbar Lorbamottan finished her craft and claimed it in the name of her ancestor. It's a Basalt mini-forge, so the children will never forget who the dwarves of Woundhalls are. It menaces with spikes of basalt, saguaro rib wood, and lime wood.
The theme of this post has been the rise and fall of dynasties, and the families of both Rin and Zutthan have fit that theme, but I want to call attention to one dynasty more before I end:
"In memory of Enorethono Aterafathinu / Went missing in the year 253 / Slayer of the Human Thep Sprinkledbends / Loving father"
The cyclops known to our dwarves as "Righting the Cloudy Ancient" was someone's loving father, searching at the end of his life for one last rampage and a glorious death. He found it in the place known as Woundhalls, where his blood would lay the foundation of a society and the family that defines them.
Strike the earth!
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Topic: Woundhalls: a tale of loyalties (and of loyal dogs) (Read 1098 times)