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Move back into the hillfort and feed the barbarian hordes.

0 (0%)

Move down below and brave the dangers of the deep.

0 (0%)

DON'T DROWNED OPEN INSIDE.

2 (100%)

Total Members Voted: 2

Voting closed: June 15, 2023, 04:59:18 pm

[Magnus]

Iron. Gold. Silver. Copper. Tin. Nickel. And flux stone.

In a world with Sparse minerals, those surveys represented an absurd fortune.

That was all it took for our Queen to commission a ship from our human allies. 7 brave beards were to ride this great wooden minecart across the waves, to establish an outpost on the far shore, in the Desert of Cracks.

How I have come to loathe that name. No trees here, no plants at all. Normally I would love that, but the stupid pricks didn’t send us any wood to build with. The air is hotter than a blacksmith's armpit, and there’s no stone either.

Have we tried digging down, you ask? Go over there and look in that hole. See the channel at the bottom, with bones swirling around in the muddy water? That’s Bomrek. Ask Bomrek if we tried. Ask him how it felt when the cave-in knocked him into his grave, only to reveal that the heavy aquifer is at least 2 levels deep and his death was in vain.

Did I mention we had embarked on top of a bandit camp? A lone human macewoman killed our dog as soon as we stopped the wagon, and we had to assemble into a squad and beat her to death with our crappy copper picks. We all live in fear that her accomplices may return some day.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Though I am mighty curious how she built a house out of chicken leather. None of us have been able to replicate the technique.

Welcome to our dormitory. It’s an earthy hole with no beds. Our tavern is down below, it’s a sandy hole, because we do like our variety in architecture. The barracks and temple, you guessed it, empty, featureless holes.

But our group isn’t called The Pillar of Metal for nothing. We could sing, spar and pray, and thus we clung to our sanity by a beard hair. With the three logs that made up our wagon we alternated between building workshops and dismantling them, enough to keep a trickle of booze and food going. Survival was possible here, if only just.

After he was done laughing, one of our dirt cave tavern's visitors promised he would send a caravan to help us. Or plunder us and dump our corpses in the pit more like, but I had a plan. There was fish in the aquifer, and we butchered the animals we brought. And, fortune of all fortunes, one of our migrants happened to be a Legendary Bonecarver.

At the end of the year we assembled our three logs into a filthy, ramshackle trade depot. The caravan leader sneered at us, until we dumped 3600 urists' worth of useless bone, shell and horn knickknacks into his hands.

Just enough for ten wooden logs and some other necessities. Man, that guy was greedy.

We now had the luxury of a bed, a table and two chairs, a still, fishery and kitchen. A crossbow with bolts, so we could hunt the wild camels that roam the wasteland. But most importantly, we could make wooden blocks.

A huge dig site was plotted out, wide enough for two concentric rings, three if need be. Staircases were dug at the edges, reaching down to the level above the aquifer. A staircase would have saved Bomrek, and we were not about to repeat our mistake.

At the lowest level we dug out a pond in the middle, first by mining, then by channeling, line by line, into the water below. Then the plug above it was channeled out at the edges, loosing it from the staircases.

I held my breath as Dodok dug out the final upper floor. This had to work. A great plume of dust rose up as predicted, but he was agile enough to dodge it, and the plug had come to rest squarely in the middle of the pond.

Now, to reach it, we spent one of our precious wooden blocks to build a floor across the moat. As expected, we had only breached the first level. And so we continued, repeating the process and praying to all the gods we knew.

This morning, I woke up when Fikod dumped something heavy on my chest. It was a chert boulder. An actual, honest to Armok, boulder of wonderful stone. Never again will I say chert is a useless mineral. I will have that boulder made into a statue and put in our grand central hallway.

Let the traders come, and the bandits, and the goblins too. Soon the world shall be awed by the splendor of our fortress, Chambertax!

I know, it’s not very cool. I didn’t pick the name. But still, GLORY TO CHAMBERTAX!

[Magnus]

"Out of the way!" I yell, and make my way down the ramp. I want to feel it on my face. That rough, glistening, oh so hard and workable stone. I kiss the wall. Home at last.

Our temple doesn't have an altar, because that would count as furniture, and we don't do that here. But now it has a single chert boulder sitting smack in the middle. Come for our spacious, open tavern - stay for the Zen garden. Ponder the fort's humble beginnings while you meditate on jewels, or cheese, or whatever cranks your gear assembly. Chambertax!

A month passes, and a mountain hall takes shape. It's just a large, square pile of goods encrusted with workshops at the moment, but big plans are in the pipeline. Multiple Z-levels? Check. Giant ostentatious pillars and arches? Yes. Artifact vault guarded by angry dogs? You know it. The magma waterfall goes without saying.

Now that we've transitioned to the Stone Age it's time to get some defenses set up. The camels and bandits can have our filthy hobo hillfort for all I care, we're already in the process of moving out.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Look at this sadness.

Schlepping all our stuff down here is thankfully not my job, I'm just a bookkeeper. But the entrance to our new mountain hall must be protected ASAP. Then we can start stuffing it full of artifacts, booze, coins and enough heavy metals to tilt the planet out of orbit. We're here to make a dragon wanna retire, man.

The aquifer acts as a natural moat, so we're gonna make a drawbridge across it. A fortress without a drawbridge is just a hole full of idiots. Anyone standing on it when it raises will do an amazing impression of Rovod the Rocketdwarf, who set fire to his rum barrel and was never seen again. And anything under it when it lowers will be smashed flatter and more lifeless than elven beer. Groovy.

I did a quick beardcount of our migrants and found that we have no less than THREE legendary bonecarvers now. They have all created wondrous artifacts in the past, but those hoity toity upshots in the Mountainhome went and claimed them for their own personal back scratcher, or underwear cabinet, or whatever those snooty parasites need in order to live.

And that's not right. Artifacts are for the good of the whole fortress. They should be shared. Mostly with me.

Our Huntress migrant actually brought a crossbow, and her own bolts, and even has the Marksdwarf skill. Do you know how rare that is? That's like having a drummer who plays in only one other band, can improvise to a tapped beat and has his own wagon. She's gonna be a dead camel factory. Which would also be a dope name for a band.

The rest of them will be useful too I'm sure. One of them, LeafLover, is a legendary fisherdwarf, fish cleaner, fish everything. Normally that's an ideal candidate for cavern exploration, but we actually need turtle shells for the bony boys, so he's a keeper.

They also brought animals, and the cave-in seems to have irrigated the soil on top of the aquifer plug, because it's full of ugly green grass now. So we could pasture them there and breed them, instead of butchering them immediately. Even milk them for cheese. Pet them once in a while. We could do that.

We could also order up some mighty tasty burgers. *urp* What is this, honey glaze? I've seen bee colonies buzzing around here, but I didn't know our cook was crazy enough to harvest them on his own. His name's ManicDigressive, should have seen it coming really. We ought to make him a part time beekeper, see if we can squeeze some mead out of the little pests.

I must admit, there are worse places than the Desert of Cracks right now. Chiefly because we have a table and a chair, and I'm currently sitting in it while doing some much-needed bookkeeping. The booze situation is great, since we can now make rock pots to keep it in. And the caravan leader said they would pay double for drinks, so by next autumn I want to see enough beer pots to drown a pit full of goblins.

The problem is beds. We really do need more than two beds. Never in my life have I known wood to be so precious. Metal ore reports are showing up daily, and there's bound to be lignite or bituminous coal here somewhere, but we are desperately lacking wood for bins and beds. As soon as that bridge is up, it's time to go deeper. Like the old texts say: Seek cave. Be wary of giant mushroom. And then let there be wood.

That's all for now, I need to pop a cold one and then kick someone out of my bed. It's been a hell of a month. Glory to Chambertax!

[Salmeuk]

Like the old texts say: Seek cave. Be wary of giant mushroom. And then let there be wood.

In the beginning Armok created the void and the planes.
And the void was without form; darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Violence of Armok moved upon the face of the waters.
And Armok said, Let there be Magma: and there was Magma.
And Armok saw the magma, and it was good; and Armok divided the Magma from the void.

[Magnus]

The humans are here! About blazing time, I can hardly feel my back anymore. Hope they brought enough wood for beds. Please. Please have wood.

Let’s wow them with our new drawbridge! Uh, why are they not crossing? Oh, the bridge is up, haha!

Wait a minute. We’ve lowered the bridge now. But they’re still just standing out in the field… oh you cannot be serious.

So when the bridge is down we can cross the moat, but not enter the fort because it covers the ramp. And when it is raised we can go down the ramp, but not cross the moat. Standard dwarven defense, great for stationing marksdwarves. But human brains are small. There’s no way we can wrap their heads around the concept of a sluice gate.

I jog across the desolate plains and approach the caravan, arms wide and all smiles. They grin back at me and rub their fingers together, human-speak for “Let’s make a deal." I bring out samples of our masterful bonework, and pass around a jug of mead. That buys us some time.

Meanwhile I send a beard-a-gram to build an access route through the newly dug farms, STAT. Frantic mining and hauling ensues, and we now have a tiny, dirty hole next to a flimsy wooden bridge, next to our astonishingly useless grand entrance.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Morons. I'm surrounded by morons.

I clap my hands together and address their leader. “The depot is now accessible, my friends! Let’s go!”

“What depot,” he asks.

“What do you mean, what…” I do a quick stonesense through the walls, down to where our new trade depot… isn’t.

I plaster on a smile and raise them a reassuring finger while reaching out to Deler, our mason.

“Deler. The trade depot. Remember when I told you to tear it down so we could use the logs, and then rebuild it in a better location? Where exactly did you build it?”

“Nowhere, boss! No stone for building!”

“WHAT?! We just excavated a hall the size of Armok’s chamberpot, what did you do with all the stone?"

“Yeah it’s weird boss, but I don’t see any boulders here."

“Deler, I have this crazy HUNCH that’s because you’re inside the TAVERN right now.”

“No stone, no job!”

“I’ll rip your beard off and glue it to an elf, you cocksu - oh, now hold on, wasn’t that layer made of...”

I sprint back to my office and pull out an obscure policy from the bottom desk drawer. Section 833-B, concerning the use of steel-worthy flux material.

Ah, for fuck’s sake. I grab a quill and tick off one of the boxes.

“Deler, what’s the stone count now, do you have enough for the depot?”

“Boss, are you joking? We’re sitting on over three hundred limestone, surely you know that. Do you want me to build it right now?”

“Deler. We’ve got two dozen bone crafts hogging all the storage space because there are no bins. We have just as many sleepless dwarves, ready to hammer down my door and hack my feet off if they have to spend another morning picking centipedes out of their ears. And there’s a human caravan parked on our front yard, carrying what looks like 20 urists of lumber. What could we possibly want with a TRADE DEPOT RIGHT GODDAMN YESTERDAY?!"

“On it, boss!”

After leading the heavily armored humans and their fully-loaded pack elephants across a rickety wooden gangplank over a muddy moat, stuffing them down a cramped stairwell, trampling through plump helmet fields and apologizing profusely to our farmers, we finally arrive at our brand spanking new trade depot.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Welcome to Chambertax. OSHA isn't in the Dwarven alphabet.

And Armok have mercy, they brought wood. We should have enough beds now for 20 of us, the military will have to sleep in shifts. We also bought leather for armorcrafting, so our cavern explorers will have a false sense of security to match their ill deserved confidence. And despite my better judgment, I splurged on a book. Not sure what it’s about, but some reading material will help pass the time.

The humans leave, and I take a look at our stocks. Food is not good, but a new fishery is being dug out, and bedrooms being carved into the grand access tunnel, which should raise spirits. Stuff is slowly being moved from the hillfort down into the main hall, and I have the drawbridge replaced with a more idiot-proof design.

Finally, I sign off on the order to dig an exploratory mineshaft down as deep as it will go. We haven’t hit any coal yet, but coal is for steelmaking and that can wait until we find iron ore. Right now we have enough tetrahedrite and cassiterite to clad our entire crew in bronze, so I’m heading straight for the blood of Armok. Magma is the only fuel worthy of a dwarf fortress.

It’s also great for dumping obstinate stonemasons in. Heck, if we get a glassmakery going we can pump it all the way up to the surface, and use it to pave over that entire poxy aquifer.

And if the humans complain about their groundwater disappearing, I’ll have their elephants for dinner.

[Magnus]

Artifacts! Jan-u-wine, Chambertax-made artifacts here!

I'm very glad to report that a ranger and a cheesemaker have each claimed a workshop, and produced two items of incomparable quality. Our military lost two promising recruits, but it can't be helped - that kind of talent is better spent making us rich than wrestling in the dirt.

One of our new heirlooms is a bone amulet with some very fancy beadwork. The other is a solid galena armor stand that just reeks of nobility. We've secured the amulet in our impregnable vault, which is guarded by Tarkus and Sledge, our goodest boys, fresh out of the kennel.

And the armor stand is kept safe in the personal office of... one of the pillars of our community, a wonderful dwarf.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A titan among bookkeepers.

That's well and good, but I've also set my sights outward. Rumors circulate of a legendary silver warhammer that was stolen from our ancestors long ago. And if the tavern stories are true, the goblin thief currently resides in a dark pit only three days southwest of here. We need that hammer back. All of dwarfkind needs it.

And our ragtag peasant army desperately needs some muscle on their bones before they go get it, and some armor on that muscle so at least one of them will come back alive. Hence our mining prospects in the sedimentary layer, and a new barracks downtown. We must find iron.

But none of that matters now. Our current situation is far too dire for such dreams of conquest, I'm only writing this down to straighten my own nerves.

The fact is, we're completely out of food. I... I have no excuses. I've ordered all our poultry be slaughtered. A terrible shame, would have loved some eggs Benedwarf for sunday breakfast. But this is only a stopgap solution.

The real problem is Adil. He's been constantly stressed out, and has grown ever more unproductive over the past year. I can't blame him, being our only competent farmer means he's got a lot on his shoulders. I do my best to help him hold it together, even gave him a personal bedroom with a door. But he's cracking. Chambertax has taxed him beyond his means.

And so in his fogged state of mind he planted only pig tail this summer, what little he planted at all. The seed stockpile was in disarray, and the farmer's shop stood idle. Even so, it shouldn't have doomed us. Our huntress proved to vindicate her first impression, and we dined like kings on roasted camel. We still have plenty of booze, so spirits are high.

But then the caravan from the Mountainhome finally came. And there was no denying them a grand feast in exchange for the wood they brought us. The laws of hospitality are sacrosanct. We honored them as best we could, and they left us with a promise to bring coal next year. And an empty larder.

Our hope now rests with LeafLover and our masterful huntress. We've stopped all other digging to give his underground fishing lake the highest priority, and stacks of bone bolts for her quiver are in the works. Hopefully they'll hold us over while we assist Adil in getting his head back on straight, so he can establish a proper crop rotation.

If that fails, we still have the cats and puppies. And if we are to die here, at least I will do so in the most bitching bookkeeper's office on the whole continent.

May Armok have mercy on us, should it come to that.

[Magnus]

It was close.

So close.

But *broaaap* uh, sorry, this soup’s a bit heavy on the old gut. Yeah, we’re fine now. The barrels are full. It’s all looking better.

We dug out the basin in the aquifer at breakneck speed. Tobul even fell in the water once, but managed to pull herself up and continue working, and soon there was a sizeable fishing pond.

“Step aside,” said an old dwarf. It was LeafLover. We stepped aside, he stripped down to his loincloth and fucking jumped in. Seconds later he came up, carrying two turtles in his arms. He broke their necks, dumped them on the floor and plopped in again.

We all stood back, amazed. Our huntress looked a bit miffed that her status as the sole breadwinner of Chambertax had now passed to this absolute unit of a fisherdwarf. That all changed when she tasted the soup.

Turtle soup is incredible. Even Adil cheered up when he had a bowl, and got back to working again! A month later we had quarry bush leaves to season the soup with, and he has taken on an apprentice in the young Id, so there should be no more crop failures. Good on him.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

And good riddance to our weekly yelling sessions.

We built tables and chairs. Finished assigning bedrooms. Squared out a dining hall, even planned a tavern upstairs for the humans to use. And then a feast was held, just because we could.

The plan was to kick it off with a short song in the temple, before we’d get to munching. Nothing fancy, but of course LeafLover would be the hero of the ceremony. We had all gathered, and Dumed cleared his throat, ready to sing. But then we saw LeafLover wasn’t there.

He was in the crafts workshop, delirious with fever. Around him lay three wooden logs, a frivolous waste, but I allow it under these circumstances. Yet, he wanted more. He started sketching out pictures of stone and cloth, which we have plenty of.

Then, a bar of metal. And as bookkeeper, I knew exactly what our bar count was.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Bupkis.

I yelled for the miners to congregate, and told them to widen the exploratory mineshaft. With the logs we got from the Mountainhome there was enough to make charcoal, at least in limited amounts. We had cassiterite, garnierite, tetrahedrite, galena… but the king of metals was missing.

A week later, we finally found magnetite. This would usually be a matter of great celebration, but we just chucked it inside the smelter and stoked it to high heat. I personally carried the iron ingot over to LeafLover, who hadn’t eaten, drunk or slept the whole time.

And he chucked the ingot out of the shop and spat at me.

“Fine,” I said, wiping my cheek. “Steel, then."

He did not want steel either, or bronze. The days came and went. We pleaded, wheedled and cajoled, and he did not speak a word. There was only so much charcoal to go around, and the soup was running low. When we tried copper and tin, his face finally lit up. But then he just started smashing the ingots together, making a horrible racket.

“Armok be damned, you old coot!” said our military commander Besmar, and shook him by the collar. "What do you want? We’ve given you everything! What obscure alloy could you possibly prefer over steel?!”

And he finally, finally spoke. I had to lean in, but I heard him whisper “I like fine pewter.”

“He likes fine pewter! Deduk!” I yelled. "How much cassiterite do we have left?! "

“None, boss.”

“Well, find some! Dumed, how’s the charcoal?”

“Uh, Dumed's meditating, boss", said Deduk. “Told us not to disturb him.”

“WHAT? Again? I burrowed him to that wood furnace!”

“Yeah, he said apparently there was an overlap with the southestern temple wall.”

“Then I’ll de-zone the whole fucking temple.”

Moments later, a flurry of confused dwarves ran out into the main hall, some carrying bronze bells and incense sticks. And Dumed got right back to work.

Fine pewter can be made in stacks of sixteen bars at one smelt, if you have the right ores. It’s a neat-looking metal, very handy for valuable statues and crafts. If only we had thought to check his preferences sooner. But dwelling on the past is futile, and we still have a fortress to manage.

We found him under the dining table, chewing his fingernails. This dwarf who had given us so much, now withdrawn from the world. Thanks to LeafLover we have a metal industry now, and more dwarves are learning how to fish. We’ll give him the topmost bedroom, closest to the turtles. And his coffin shall be made of the finest pewter.

It was close.

So close.

[Magnus]

Id, our aspiring farmer, has graduated to become fertilizer.

Not a week after we buried LeafLover, she hopped inside a crafts shop and started bellowing for bones and cloth. I sent Mebzuth up to go camel hunting, and she turned one of them into a boltcushion. Then she just stood there, retching from sun sickness while the proud beast dragged its broken legs off the map. So we slaughtered a puppy instead.

But that wasn't good enough for her high-and-mightiness, and neither was any of our woven cloth. Here at Chambertax we pride ourself on our off-white pig tail couture, but she wasn’t having it. Solon, Id's lover and our most popular bard, came into the dining hall one day to witness his groupie flying off the hinges and socking Deler on the jaw.

You don't do that to a Legendary miner. Deler's idea of a proportionate response was to cave-in Id’s skull and hack both her arms off. She's now been drafted into the military, because that was some awesome pickwork.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Unarmed rebellion can still be disarmed.

And Solon deftly strummed his lute and sang:
"Oh Id, my favorite desert rose,
What was your project, Armok knows.
You tried to do us grievous harm,
But all you've done is bought the farm."

That puts us down to 21 dwarves now, from 24 if you count Bomrek's attempt at hydroengineering. I asked the caravan leader if they have similar problems with moody humans. But he just laughed and said we're like a morbid Christmas calendar, whatever that means. I bought five different rolls of cloth from them, in case we’re blessed with another creative crackpot.

For some reason we've attracted no migrants for 3 seasons in a row. I can't imagine why. Just look at our indefensible nightmare of an entrance, with eighty bazillion tons of water churning behind one pissy sand wall, ready to crumple like tinfoil and come gushing down the tunnel to make a giant can of dwarf-flavored seltzer.

Tremble at the sight of our military, all decked out in turtle shell helmets, wielding copper axes and sparring with their peckers dangling in the wind, because not one of them can figure out how to take their shoes off BEFORE pulling the boots on. Those shellmets are purely decorative, their brainpans must be thick enough to use as anvils.

Marvel at the aesthetics of our domain, richly decorated with smelly socks, loose boulders, untended beehives and camel dung. A feast for the senses. Stubbing your toe against a chunk of limestone has never felt so good. At least our coffins are well-made. I can just hear Solon serenading my funeral:
“Stacked like straws on camels' backs,
Dwarves die young, in Chambertax.
The miners fight and the guards relax,
Come on down to Chambertax!"

But we’re getting there, slowly. The food's good now, especially when Mebzuth can hold her guts in long enough to shoot straight. We've got precious metals and gems, should drop some jaws back in the Mountainhome come autumn. There's enough charcoal to make a good bit of steel yet, and our weaponsmith is Legendary. Few fortresses can say the same.

Our people also seem to be doing well, all considered. Adil's fully back to himself, and even pestered the humans to sell him some barleycorn on their way out. It makes for weak beer but great whiskey, and can be grown all year round, so I consider that a sound investment.

And little Datan, son of Deler and Såkzul, the first and only child born in Chambertax, is now old enough to walk around and play with his toy boat. If he's anything like his mother, the next artsy dwarf who throws a hissy fit is going to get boatmurdered.

We’ve yet to find the caverns, but I’d feel a lot more comfortable going in if we had some more bodies to throw at whatever crawls out. All honor to our Shellmet Streakers, but our visitors tell stories of hundreds of cave lizard men washing up from the depths below. So I’ve decided that it’s time for home improvements, so we can attract more suckers to come and chase the hero’s dream.

First thing is to link up that damned drawbridge, then construct a roof over the aquifer plug so it’s more of a fortress and less of a skeet shooting range for invaders. Then we’ll add some weapon traps to the tunnel, an emergency flood drain and an alert burrow down in the main hall.

And last but not least, I want these floors shiny enough to do figure skating on, and all these thrice-blasted boulders dwarvenly jammed into one neat little tile. I want statues in the corners and images on the walls. I want a cabinet in every bedroom, and so much turtle soup you can smell it all the way to Humansville.

I want the world to know, that these sands are ours.

Glory to Chambertax!

[Magnus]

After the last update, the game crashed and I had to reload an older save where Id was still alive. The strange mood never happened, and a few uneventful months passed. Now, back to the story.

Id jolted awake, bathed in sweat. “Oh! Oh what a horrible nightmare! I feel terrified after witnessing my own death.”

Solon stirred under the covers beside her. “Mmf. Go back to sleep, hon.”

“It was so bad,” she whimpered, rocking back and forth. “I… I think I went crazy for some reason, but then everyone just laughed at me, and… and that awful Deler woman, she killed me! And YOU were there!” She punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow! I’ve been injured. That was very annoying!” He rolled over and blinked at her, shaking the Elven strippers out of his head. So much for sleeping in.

“And you made an awful song about it! I feel angry today!”

He sighed inwardly. Sure is a lot of work being the best Bard in the fortress. He cleared his throat and readied his most assuring barytone. “Babe, you seem agitated. Why don’t you go have a therapy session with our mayor? I yelled at him recently. That was very satisfying.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard others say the same. I’ll go do that right now!”

She put her clothes on and hurried down the staircase, punching a few Troglodytes along the way. Many Z-levels later she was standing in the great hall, and just around the bend was the mayor’s office.

“Knock knock!” she yelled at the hillock of papers that had accumulated in the cavernous space. The pile rustled, and a tired dwarf with bloodshot eyes emerged.

“What?! Can’t you see I’m doing bookkeeping?”

“Oh, um, yes, but… I had a bad dream and - TROGLODYTE!” She pointed at the creature that had wandered into the office. The Mayor wrestled with it for a bit, before biting its ear off and choking it to death.

“Yes, how can I help you?” he asked again after wiping his beard.

“Sorry, I know you’re very busy. It’s just that I had a bad dream and I wanted to yell at you.”

“Well that can wait! Look at all this paperwork!” He gestured at the massive pile. A few scrolls tumbled down and rolled ominously across the floor. Id picked one up and read it.

“The Lucky Strands humbly request permanent residency in Chambertax. Oh they’re a group of travelling minstrels! How lovely! Hey, I can help, all I need to do is -“

“No! Stop!”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Hungry, hungry hippies.

“...fill out this checkbox and done! They now live here!”

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!!!”

“Sure thing, boss!” She curtseyed and went back into the hall, where another troglodyte was getting its limbs torn off by two bone carvers and a furnace operator.

I sighed and slumped down on the floor. Of course I knew opening the caverns would be fun, and the Shellmet Streakers were more than capable of the task. But I had no idea how much work it would be to clean it all up.

No, dear ambassador from the Mountainhome, that’s not a disgusting miasma cloud roiling in the middle of our crafts hall. That’s just the new perfume we’ve developed. It’s called Fragrance de Corps, they’ll love it back home. Please send more migrants.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Don't mind the lunatic having a nap in our Lake of Gore.

And why did I make the new tavern so goddamn opulent? The troglodytes pouring up from below were manageable. It was a dwarven problem with a dwarfy solution. But I have no answer for the menace up above, and neither do our lawbooks.

At least you can punch the Trogs, work off some steam. But how do you kick out someone that you've granted residency? The laws of hospitality are sacred! It's all my fault! I'm too good at my job!

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The raves. Don't. Stop.

The entire upper ward is now a permanent fucking Burning Dwarf festival. Those long-eared forest monkeys hate it when we cut down trees, but they sure don’t mind smoking them.

I was dumb enough to let the first few groups join our fortress, thinking I could just reassign them to not be completely fucking useless. But they refuse to do anything except eat, drink and dance! And now this shit-for-brains farmer's apprentice went and let in twenty more! They even have GOBLINS among them, for Armok’s sake!

Wait. We have an aquifer. And this year it’s finally gotten cold enough for it to freeze over. I could make the pretense of digging us a new entrance right into the tavern, and then it would be so easy to... yeees. No. Must… not… be... genocidal. Argh, but the food! We’ll starve with all these mouths to feed!

Maybe I could relocate the working lot of us into the caverns and leave the freeloaders to their self-imposed apocalypse. We’ll be fine, the farmland down there is good and the worst I’ve seen are a few cave spiders.

But we built the mountain hall to be airtight, in case of flooding. The miasma’s going to be hanging thick as oatmeal in there for years to come. Once we close that hatch, there’s no coming back until their bones are bleached good and dry by the desert winds.

And just cause we haven’t seen any, doesn’t mean there aren’t worse things down there. I have no idea what that gem-encrusted obsidian pillar is, but it’s the most obvious fucking trap I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’m not keen on shaking hands with the builder.

Do we bite the bullet and move back up in the hillfort? The soil was okay and there are beehives full of honey up there. At least we’d have enough food, but wouldn’t that just be postponing the issue? Dwarves living above ground, slaving for the elves below? What kind of evil, unnatural carbuncle of a fortress would that be?

What do I DO here?

[A_Curious_Cat]

What do I DO here?

I would suggest that you (temporarily) retreat to the hill fort until you have enough militia trained and equipped that you can safely open the caverns.  Whether or not you want to feed the hippies as well is up to you.  Do note, however, that once you do open the caverns (and the hippies gain citizenship) that you can use them as bait scouts.

Also, what the heck is that third option?  It doesn’t make sense!

[Magnus]

The caverns are already open. Wide, gaping open. If you hadn't noticed there are Troglodytes wandering up the 20 Z-level staircase and making a godawful mess in the main hall. I've stationed the military there but occasionally one slips through.

The problem isn't them, it's that I'm running out of food. We now have 20 workers and 40 bards, but the latter are useless, they won't do any work and can't be in the military, all they do is eat. I hope they respect burrows, otherwise I really don't know what to do.

The third option is a reference to the first episode of The Walking Dead (google "don't dead open inside"). It would be a shame if all those useless bards were to get locked inside the tavern while aquifer-related projects were going on directly above.

[A_Curious_Cat]

Assuming that there’s room, I suggest that you build a waterfall in the tavern.  This should be accomplished by letting water from the aquifer enter through a floor grate in the ceiling of the tavern and exit through another one in on the floor (the upper grate should be directly above the lower one).  What you do with the water after that is up to you.  Just don’t forget to add hatches to each of the grates and link the hatches to separate levers in a separate room.

Edit:  don’t forget to check the locks on the doors!