Thinking it would end in a standard tantrum spiral I vowed to play through a game of DF, the hilarity and insanity that ensued was above anything I could have anticipated even having read about this game. Man I love this game, I only played a practice run beforehand and only ever reached the point of digging a hole in a hill and assigning a bunch of beds. But THIS... this was pretty nuts.
So here is the story of Cunningroads, a first time players warm welcome into the fold. I don't know whether this was par for the course or what, but I still hope you enjoy the read. Losing is truly fun.
The Chaos at Cunningroads.
Cunningroads, as it is known in the common tongue, was the first offspring colony initiated by the Dwarvern government The Cremated Pillar. The new government was dubbed The Dagger of Dimensions. The fledgling leader's youthful idealism and inexperience led to a society founded on strict communism. No dwarf possessed aught nor was possessed by any prevalent betters. The orders came down from a manager residing in identical quarters to their own and all food was taken in a large communal mess hall. Against all odds this design proved effective until the first winter bore down upon them.
The harsh climes of winter strained them as what beforehand seemed an unceasing and powerful river halted, frozen solid. Little water could be gained from it now, barely even enough to provide for the small crew within the tunnels. A woman stricken with inspiration rushed to realize her artistic dream only to fall short of resources Driven insane by this rejection of her craft she walked to the frozen riverside and lay there till dehydration took her. Impressed by her artistic passion the others proudly buried her in a large tomb. As a measure against starvation the young commander regrettably ordered the mass butchery of all the dogs save a single male and female for next winter. The miners uncovered a strange, expansive cave network yet unseen by Dwarvern, Elven or Mankind's explorers. The shaft that bore into this place unfortunately led directly from the center of the the mysterious caves into the heart of Cunningroads with no defensive structures separating the two. The young leader observed this as a defensive weakness yet ignored it insisting a focus on food production, trading and civilian happiness. His disinterest in military or defensive measures became a subject of some concern amongst serious minded workmen.
When winter ended all the dwarves rushed to the riverside and gorged gaily on it. The golden age of Cunningroads had begun as immigration flourished from excellent trading, quality of life increased and the water flowed once again. The only person consumed in worry was the young leader endlessly agonizing over how to safely store clean, unfrozen water for the winter and how to seal the foreboding depths, the foul denizens of which already crawled forth into the living quarters requiring the threadbare levy army to eternally safeguard the imposing maw to the underground. He cursed his inexperience and knew a solution to these problems could be spotted by a more experienced manager. Despite these worries the youthful leader became distracted by the necessities of everyday leadership thus the water and the chasm both were left foolishly unchecked and unheeded till late winter.
When the second winter did hit, he panicked. The material comforts he prioritized became worthless in a society deprived of basic sustenance. There was food aplenty thanks to skilled hunters and fishers but the water once again froze over, only this time the swelling population could never sustain itself on ice licking. The leader hurriedly ordered deeper excavation to reach reported subterranean lakes in the unknown caves. The dying, demoralized dwarves worked slowly, hacking deeper into the underground. There was alcohol but no trader would suffer a winter journey to sell them more and suitable plants for fermentation became few for similar reasons. Booze ran dry. When the cave pools were finally unearthed the water was unsurprisingly discovered to be foul and stagnant. The life that called these labyrinthine paths home were unthinkably cruel humanoids, monstrous arachnids and other perplexing lifeforms unrecorded in literature. Swarms of them periodically spewed forth from the pit, a structure the leader had no idea how to unmake. His levy guardians were effective at combating these menaces but the leaders inexperience showed in full during this time. The people no longer confided the same confidence in him nor reveled in the world of material joy he proposed and no longer worked so unquestioningly for the future he sought. Plans presented to fix these wrongs left unattended, traditions of revelry discarded.
The winter dragged on and its victims in Cunningroads began falling to the slothful wound of dehydration. Of roughly 87 only a dozen died yet within these groups friendships and love had blossomed, bonds had formed and once severed no comfort or respite could be handed down from the state. The wheels of production ground to a halt and the citizens became mournful and solitary. Many wandered sparsely amidst the communal rooms or retreated out into the fields to burrow deep within themselves. Weeping echoed throughout the halls and The Dagger of Dimensions could do nothing to appease its betrayed citizens who had suffered under an oversight perpetrated by leadership. In truth the young leader had foreseen this eventuality but hoped it would not come to pass. Now that it had the leader apologetically devised a plan to avoid such tragedy from ever occurring again, the citizens were none too impressed and ignored it. Upon the last dehydration victims discovery the populace broke into mass unrest and barbarism resulting in vandalism and fighting. Workshops tore down, fistfights broke out in the corridors, thankfully without casualties but overall it seemed as though the things were going from bad to worse.
Still winter persisted. When the violence reached its peak there came a point where it could quite easily go either way. Signs of restoration were in play such as tantrum perpetrators reverting to being calmer, though traumatized. Likewise there were indications the populace would be pushed over the edge by the chaos and follow through with total anarchy complete with widespread murder, suicide and destruction, which seemed possible as more people began rioting. It had reached a head, and all the people needed was a push to either side to restore or destroy Cunningroads entirely. This fact enthused the young leader who searched for an opportunity to show his people some small gesture of kindness or present them with one scrap of joy in their ruined existences thus restoring a workforce capable of preventing further tragedy. It was at this exact pivotal moment of contemplation the messenger arrived bearing news.
The messenger charged into the office, pale faced and maddened with terror, the other threat to Cunningroads had come into play. While the foolish leader agonized over the frozen river above his attention had been drawn from the unknown menaces below, some horrid beast spawned from the rank darkness of the unknown caves had reportedly been sighted clamoring upwards from the depths and sodden with that watery filth unfit for consumption. Its mass could be heard thundering upward as a grim portend of inescapable doom. It emerged into a total melee as alcohol deprived Dwarves fought furiously throughout the tunnels. It may have been that the bloodletting and hatred ruling these claustrophobic corridors called forth whatever unfathomable evil lurked in those untouched crevasses slumbering neath the accursed hold, for this forgotten beast trailed a slew of horrid creatures hungering for the world above. Its bulk revealed in full to these already maddened souls crowding the entrance the beast was observed to be a hulking stegasauroid who's ribs clasped the outside of its chest rather than the inside. Its scales shone some peculiar tint and its mouth spewed streams of flame through the narrow passages, which became a perfect conduit for the fire and smoke. The fort quickly descended into utter anarchy and all hope of reclaiming joy was lost in the blinding smoke and flames. So insane were the people, the fighting never ceased in the face of such a creature, only intensified. As the dwarves on the street tore at eachothers flesh the rampant creature burned all. Its form was so unthinkable it seemed as though the thing was unable to support its own existence, its mortal structure collapsing as the constraints of reality crushed or melted its body in ways the helpless unarmed and armoured rioters could never inflict. Those struck with its fire left nothing behind save empty clothes and ashes, an instant painless cremation shrouded by waves of thick black smoke. Intermittently one would charge the advancing smoke-cloud and a severed limb would come flying out as a result of some unknown retaliation. Save that freak occurrence the only blood left was that of the monster as the rampage caused blood to erupt from it against the walls when reality fought against such an impossible mass and ferocity, tearing the thing apart, it shuddered and roared fitfully in suffering as a result of this horrific existence.
Retreating to the great dining room the great monster bled, every part of its body appeared to crush or melt, even as it effortlessly incinerated any who dared trespass upon the entryway. A small band of men and women with nothing but the clothes on their backs organised a gang to heroically charge the thing only to be swallowed by smoke and fire. At least two thirds of the population had died either by berserk comrades or this calamitous injustice of life and its fiery malice. The beast wandered closer to the entrance when another wave of hapless citizens brandishing naught but boltless bronze crossbows made another charge. The thing was so helplessly broken not by battle but rather design that it could scarcely retaliate. The Dwarves beat upon it with the stocks of their crossbows until they cracked the bizarre material composing its scaly form. It crawled pitifully back out into the corridors where more joined with fists or tools till the shattered body slowed ever more to a halt just outside the dining hall. There its broken skin and bones finally caved in releasing a revolting fluid all about the floor. A few remaining Dwarves threw up, adding to the horrendous variety of both familiar and unidentified fluids now flooding the corridors.
Smoke cleared and the aftermath of this madness revealed itself. Blood had smeared all across the walls and floor, tattered empty clothes cluttered the halls and every made or built object within the retail production quarters was either strewn wildly amidst this destruction or damaged beyond repair. One survivor recounted witnessing a dwarf stealing a barrel of fine goods during the battle inexplicably taking it deeper into the fort rather than fleeing for the hills. The beloved farmer and his adorable pet duckling had perished in their rooms, the brave soldiers has all fallen within moments of exposure to the monster. There were none among the surviving few who had not lost everything in this event and none who could adequately express their sorrow now. Some wept wildly, others left to lie till starvation on the hill just as that proud artist once had and some still violently assaulted the others in some fruitless attempt to keep the fires of rage burning, lest there be left emptiness besides. The beast's death inspired no joy, only sorrowful rumination on why such a horrid embodiment of rage and power ever existed only to rip itself apart before their eyes. Loved ones had been wiped out in droves by it only minutes before and here it lay now, a stinking mess. The hole yet produced more mockeries of flesh known as troglodytes, weak humanoids hunting the stench of death wafting from the fort. Survivors armed still with empty crossbows madly bludgeoned them to death now reveling and enjoying the slaughter. When the troglodytes ran out again only darkness remained. The leader was no less troubled and left for his room mindlessly seeking his bed. The others too tread towards their bedrooms splashing pools of blood vomit and tears over their leggings. The spirit of the fort was ravaged, physical concerns of hygiene no longer applied here.
It had not even been a single night, yet just as it seemed the people could pass out within the ruined compound another sound erupted from the deep. It seemed a sick farce, but none could ignore it now, a guttural squeal echoed the halls. This mocking screech awoke the dwarves and that in mourning and depravity they could find no rest, no release save death and would be made to suffer another evil from the tunnels even after all they had endured was a horrid joke. The survivors banded together at the mouth of evil whence the first beast had risen. There the screech still echoed upwards closer and closer. Not a single dwarf failed to heed this call, they each met atop the chasm exchanging knowing glances, no words. These were a people with nothing to fight for, no wives children or property to call their own. Hollow beings stripped of sanity love and purpose in the face of the shuddering abominations escaping from the deep they now stood together as one lost soul against the horrors below. Armed still with pick bow and fists they braced for what must be a certain death, if the last beast killed nearly all the citizens of Cunningroads this pitiable militia would never have a hope against this new menace.
The creature was smaller than the last, much smaller and resembling something like a guinea pig or ferret though sporting an ugly plume of sparse feathers clearly composed of copper metal. Its claws were long and it arrived trailing a cloud of white mist. The first combatant fell, torn apart by the monsters barrage of bites claws and blinding smog. His ally fled into a storeroom only to turn around and charge it, falling momentarily. The larger group charged, the creature scrambled about the halls secreting an unidentified gas that had no immediately apparent effect. Once cornered it fought viscously, mutilating another warrior. The soulless warriors fought, some had found sharp implements and carved great wounds into the beast. It thrashed injuring many, but fell defeated in the crossroads separating all four districts of the fort. Sleep deprived, booze deprived, joy deprived dwarves collapsed shaking in shock. They left to find sustenance yet as they did so and wolfed down meals like starved animals another sound, another roar, another nightmare. Some wept wholly, pushed over the edge and emotionally distraught at the core by the mere sound of it. This unceasing violence, unending torment. Perhaps, one considered, they had already died and were in hell, all this sorrow and not a drop of booze left to numb it. All this one after another, not a gap of days betwixt the monsters, an endless march of evil they had unwittingly became the ill prepared vanguards of. So it was the people met again now even ridden of tears and anger, beyond such things and accompanying one another till the bitter end.
The new threat had already come forth before they reached the entrance, and had gotten hold of a baby. It was no forgotten beast, this time it was a large, blind female cave ogre transfixed on the baby. Its cruel instinct driven to throttle the infant while the hollow warriors beat upon it with crossbow stocks, the very same that beat upon the creatures before as this makeshift army numbered in only a dozen to begin with and were even fewer now. The veteran madmen slew it only long after it had killed the defenseless baby. Nobody cared anymore, no further transgressions could affect them.
Nothing had altered when daylight broke, the previous day had not been some feverish nightmare and remained disappointingly real. The fluids and detritus of the battle filled the tunnels with an ungodly stench that attracted pests and flies eager to feast on the dead. Cadavers littered the mess and in the coming days none summoned the strength to dispose of them. No work was done, orders were half heartedly given to construct tunnels fit for providing clean drinking water for next winter. Nobody bothered, the damage was long since done. Orders were given to build replacement buildings and furniture, nobody bothered or cared. Orders were given to carve pointless decorations into the walls of the living quarters, everybody approved of this outlet and began work immediately, much to the young commanders surprise. Soon winter was over.
The pompous Elves arrived bearing goods but negotiating with them was the last thing the dwarves needed. One scruffy odorous dwarf with ruined clothing goaded an elf in, whereupon he was torn apart by the ravenous, insane dwarves within. They were ordered to do so by the young leader now as deprived and morally bankrupt as his compatriots. The other elves fled upon hearing the screams but the dwarves of Cunningroad had looted much of the stock anyway. Now a nation of murderers and savages Cunningroads was officially a rogue state.
One day a group of dwarves entered the tunnels from outside, fresh faces. They appeared very confused and disgusted by the blood soaked entryway and hillside and introduced themselves as immigrants from the Cremated Pillar seeking job opportunities in Cunningroads. The survivors laughed uncontrollably. They laughed for the first time in a year and laughed all the more for the worried expressions of the newcomers witnessing a last rabble of madly cackling dwarves.
Work on the wall engravings continued ignoring physical concerns of sleep food or drink. Half the survivors had fallen deathly ill, which then turned out to be one last malign vengeance inflicted by the bizarre hamster beast. The white mist had the delayed effect of rotting every part of ones external flesh. Even after the rotting corpses of the dead dwarves had been dragged atop the hill by the unlucky immigrants the inside chambers still became repugnant with the stench of rotting, live dwarves walking about still determinedly detailing walls while their flesh deceyed. The very last of the uninfested surviving militia were forced to endure the rotting of their last, only friends in the entire world as they all willingly chiselled away at the bedroom walls. The pictures produced under such circumstances were unsettlingly childlike. Carvings of dwarves, birds, food, fish, gems and other such simplistic matters obviously intentionally avoiding the subject of history, at least in regards to Cunningroads. The infected engravers died, eaten alive by maggots and flies whilst choking the others and themselves with the cloying miasma of their own death. The settlement was miserable save the immigrants who focused on cleaning up their new home.
Summer came and only a couple of the original crew remained alive after a few more took their own lives. A human trade caravan appeared, the dwarves bought every barrel of alcohol available with the last unbroken goods from the glory days. The humans took notice of the entrance to the settlement, leaking a thick trail of blood. Some dry, some more recent. The broker tasked with negotiations stank of it and painted footprints of the stuff when coming in and out carrying barrels of goods. The goods were made from dog bone. However things were looking up as the new dwarves were content with their booze and fine food and dutifully followed the strange orders of the young mayor to construct a large waterway beneath the fort to gather river water for drinking. Yet as always just as the gears of industry started timidly moving again, winter came.
A new wave of creatures attacked from below dubbed “Elk Birds”. As this name suggested these creatures were large birds helmed with antlers, capable of killing a grown dwarf. The newcomer immigrants attempted to restore civilisation whist under constant assault from these surprisingly vicious predators. The Elk birds seemed to never end their attack being slain left and right but eventually overcoming the defense, many soldiers died, more citizens were conscripted. The population dwindled from 30, to 20, to 16. This last 16 seemed doomed against the Elk Bird hordes, when the messenger, inexplicably still alive, rushed in with news.
A goblin ambush party had arrived and the fort had no fortifications against the outside. The conscript army of six was commanded to go out and battle the goblins who possessed the advantages of higher numbers, more armour, better weapons, more experience and better organisation. The dwarfish troops were brutally killed. Left unguarded the citizens panicked, running across the hills and were hunted down one by one. The goblins entered and slaughtered women and children. As the slaughter reached its height and hope was utterly lost, again, the young mayor was fleeing towards the newly crafted waterway that had only just been finished by the time the goblins attacked. Its construction finished late winter and thus nobody had ever seen water flowing through it. The river topside was solid and hopefully the goblins would not find the place, it could well have been the only safe place in the whole fort. As the mayor ran for the waterways he was stopped by the messenger who bore one last message.
A beast forgotten by the passing of time was crawling forth from the depths, all the mayor heard before sprinting for the waterway caverns was that it possessed a deadly poisonous sting. He didn't care, he didn't stop, he only wanted to flee. The goblins were already in and had killed everybody else. The bloodletting was familiar now, as was tragedy and fear. He made it to the crude waterways and rested against a rough wall. The newly carved tunnels were recently made and did not sport the same smoothed or civilized finish of the upper rooms. Just massive gaping tunnels ready for the turn of spring when water would flood in for the first time. He lay there, as above goblins wandered heedless to his escape. As the goblins searched, the new evil born from the depths emerged, and fought the goblins. A goblin fell whist another injured the creature. The horrid beast fought goblins for the honour of destroying Cunningroads. All this above the dying mayor, the young idealist dehydrating to death in the waterways. Many ghosts haunted him, alone in the tunnels. He slept there for days with no food or water, his nightmares tormented by all the citizens he failed. The undead apparitions followed him as he crawled down another shaft, the one leading out onto the hillside. But he never made it, his eyes were too weak to spot the trench he ordered carved out to store the river water for consumption . He fell in, huddled and now starving in the pit, accompanied by a huge pack of dwarvern ghosts, over a dozen of them. Both his waking hours and sleep were haunted by them. In the settlement above he knew not who had prevailed, beast or goblin it mattered not, the dark of the chasm would likely rule the fort now having finally won. He lay still now for days more unable to move in the least. The battle above had long ago ended, he was the last, the young leader, The Dagger of Dimensions now a dying failure far away from anybody who ever loved him. Ready to die in a pit within an empty tunnel, below a fallen hold of suffering. The architect of which was none other than himself.
In the end he was barely capable of hearing the sound of rushing water. He tried to open his eyes but could see nothing but a rough cave ceiling and the sides of his pit, his grave. He listened closer, it was indeed rushing water, an unmistakeable mocking laugh of the frozen river he had so desperately needed to melt every winter. For the first time ever water cascaded through the room, a glut of it fresh from the mountain swept in and filled his grave hurling him bodily and bruising him against a wall. This sudden hydration to his lips caused pain, but it mattered not. He floated now, finally given water. His aqueduct worked much too late. He made a military too late. But now in these last moments he was weightless, gifted all the water he ever wanted. The wailing of the ghosts literally drowned out by water and his rule came to an end. No longer his problem, he smiled.
The End
Roundup: Dog slaughter
Mass dehydration, twice
Tantrum spiral interrupted by two forgotten beasts, trogs, blind lady ogre
Elven slaughter
Near restoration interrupted by goblin ambush which in turn was interrupted by a forgotten beast
Last survivor (mayor) hiding in tunnels until dehydration, starvation, haunting and drowning kill him all at once
I am willing to bet this is all par for the course in Dwarf Fortress, but I had a great time.
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Topic: First time playthrough: Chaos at Cunningroads. (Read 1619 times)