By the way, we're holding some kind of desicion on what to do with the ring and what to do with the room(-to-be) under the dining hall.
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On the 24th, Splint wound up in the river for some unknown reason while gathering plants. He left.
A bit later, I noticed something. The guy who someone said was a vampire was looking vampirish and standing over the sleeping Strengthletter. I immediately moved the militia to the latter's room.
{Read: When Urist McEdward (real name: Degel Howlclasps) migrated, one of his relatives--his nephew, a farmer-cum-woodcutter, to be precise--referred to his dear uncle as a metalcrafter vampire, who, given that his profile was visible, was likely immigrating. When I checked after a metalcrafter entered the map, the guy referred to McEdward as only a metalcrafter. That's when I got suspicious (the fact that urist McBella wasn't coming also tipped me off). Just a moment before I typed this, I saw, in the units list, pretty much this:
[Prisoner, Vampire Suspect vampire]
Then, zooming there, what do I see but a scene out of a gay dwarven Twilight fanfic? Okay, I don't see that, but I do see a vampire suspect vampire and a swordsdwarf, with the former drinking the latter's 60-proof sanguine fluids. I then send the ENTIRE MILITIA into the bedroom, partly to get witnesses, and partly to see if the militia will attack an out-of-the-closet vampire.
And just think--one door over, and the vamp would have fed on little Blockadeswords, and I'd need to head to TV Tropes to make sure my Twilight references made sense.
One entertaining note: One marksdwarf, right behind the guy in front, is carrying a barrel of mussels instead of a crossbow or bolts.}
A marksdwarf pointed a barrel of mussels at the vampire, but the rest of the militia realised they had no authority over these issues until someone's dead. Since the vampire is a citizen, nothing worse than somehow firing a mussel at him can be done until poor Mr. Militia Captain wakes up. Damn regulations, every dwarf who attacks the vampire would be instantly branded an enemy of the people.
Soon, the vampire just leaves. I start planning a special room for vampires...maybe I'll eventually use it. Perhaps if Mr. Vampire decides to kill someone before he's the prisoners' problem. Speaking of which, the architect gave up before he could finish. I decide to scrap the one big bridge and instead make four littler ones.
On a random side note, I decide to pardon a random fishery worker who has skill as a mason to be a pretty-much-full-time builder. Also randomly, as of the start of Galena we have a moat full of water.
On the second of Galena, The New Secrets of Drying gave birth to a very chubby little boy, surnamed Claspedrush, as TNSoD expects to be clutching to him as she rushes into battle. She and her husband, a former prisoner who got pardoned by his wife's excellence and his timing, have decided to raise him to worship Edim Rainysun, the god of the fire mountains, and firey mountains. Also the sun, but not rain. We now have 70 dwarves, around a fifth of them children, including two babies. What a shame that we do not still have those who were taken from us (literally, in one, very small, case).
On the 6th of Galena, a wheelbarrow was lost in the river. It's on the downstream side, though, so once we get the whole “removing water from the river” thing to a better point, we'll be able to retrieve it. By the way, my eventual plans in that area include an underwater barracks and ideally some sort of floodable entrance. Maybe that will be the ONLY entrance--exciting, isn't it? And on the subject of water manipulation, our moat is filling up. It's maybe knee-deep at the deepest points [2/7 water], but the moat is steep-sided and a whole level deep, so that's not too big of an issue.
Oh, neat, evidently our river-emptying efforts have gone so far as to allow a prisoner to grab the wheelbarrow from the river. I think I will order the creation of a number of bridges spanning the rivers at various points.
On the 13th, an ambush squad of three goblins bearing crossbows and one with a silver whip showed up; a woodcutter saw them about as they entered our territory. Oh, dear. I send the militia out to deal with them.
The goblins only get one shot off at the woodcutter before he runs away, terrified and preparing to put something in a barrel. As the first militiadwarves--a new Spear of Urging and a competant in The Constructive Fortresses--approached the goblins, a couple shots were fired. One copper bolt hit the recruit in the elbow, disabling and breaking her right arm. More shots were fired as the ramshackle militia entered the battlefield. As they did, another crossbowglin revealed itself. The goblin lasher was lashing the marksdwarf quite effectively, breaking a hand and a foot and so on. Interestingly, the goblin was focusing on the dwarf's left side. Soon, the poor marksdwarf passed out, and the goblin killed her.
I made a hard choice. I ordered a retreat. Some of the dwarves were ordered to stay outside to cover the escape of the others, but all the dwarves in Splint's and BerserkNINJA's squads, as well as The Constructive Fortresses, were ordered to stop attacking the goblins. I wait until everyone's within running distance of the fortress's gates, and order the lever pulled. Some people were stuck outside--a marksdwarf who tried to fight back the goblins whilst outnumbered, firing some ineffective bolts, four other living militiadwarves and counting (down), a prisoner who was hauling a plant barrel, the suturer (who was trying to save a wounded dwarf before the goblins scared her off), the baby of the New Secrets of Drying, and yours truly, who was putting a yak in its place, then removing a chunk of wall to get back inside as I was right at the bridge. I'm ashamed of my foolishness, but can't help but fear for my life. These are the first goblins I've ever seen that weren't safely trapped in a cage or far off, being chased by military dwarves. The New Secrets of Drying was rendered incapacitated, and the lasher went over to her and lashed her infant's leg--same leg a few times--until the baby gave into pain, at which point that...monster sent the infant flying with a lash to the head. All of this as his mother was there, just conscious thanks to a kick from the lasher, as she was trying to protect her baby. I now know why goblins kidnap children: They hope to watch the horror on the parents' faces as they are killed by their own, heartless children. I can't stand that. I'm no warrior, my sister used to beat me up for lunch money! Sure, she was a year and a half older than me and had the build of a mad hammerer, but still! I can't take the cruelty, the horror, the death of the battlefield. I just can't. I give my apologies, grieving mother whose child was flayed out of your protective arms by a cruel beast in a manlike form. I grieve as you do to see such horrors on this land. I wish I could have protected all of you. I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore.
Shortly after the first shots were fired, a child started a party in the dining hall. She thought that we were winning, that her cousin, Rimtar, would chew the goblins to death. I can't tell them the truth, that Rimtar will never again return to our fortress, but I can try to cleanse myself of my sins, and I can try to destroy every goblin who walks this land. I will. I must! For little Claspedrush, the tiny baby, torn out of his mother's arms, for Gulleytowers, the mighty warrior, the grieving mother.
I watch the others fall. Atis, so recently it seems you were rejoicing you could use both arms. You had almost a score of bolts shot into you before one finally ended your last, wretched moments of life.
The head goblin was shouting his name--Dang Aslotgngun, Dang Aslotgngun. I added the first thing I could think of to shout back--Sister of Doors. It has something to do with my sister, and how she mocked me for always staying locked up in my room, it made sense to me. The goblin laughed, and added it to his name--Dang Aslotgngun Bexo Sustgo! Dang Aslotgngun Bexo Sustgo! D.A.B.S, for your crimes on my fortress, killing no fewer than five dwarves of my fortress, and perhaps more before this is all done, I curse you with all the force I can muster. By the souls of those slain by you and your men, I curse you! By the power of Istbar Spryfancies and Doren Coalearths and all other gods, known and unknown, I curse you! I curse those who serve you, and those you serve, and all those foul things who call themselves goblins! I curse you, those I once thought civilized and now realize are anything but!
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From the memoirs of Ago Ngokangosnuk, goblin thief.
Heh, and I was having it easy here. My people are good to their own, but obviously I still need to work. While the dwarves throw stuff at me, it's often tasty stuff, and often soaked in their alcohol. I've got two ladies here, and what one lacks the other can provide, you know what I mean?
The brainy lavender-haired one had learned some Dwarvish, and even the pinkhead knew their word for “goblin--” we heard it every day. We all knew when our comrades were attacking; they were saying “goblin” to each other and not us. I got a bit nervous when a little-girl-dwarf [Translator's Note: the goblin word for “little-girl-dwarf” is a single word, used to refer to children that are not adults, babies, or boys] started trying to set up a party. Astot--that's the lavender-haired lady--said she was trying to celebrate her uncle, who was a soldier. Well, that meant either that the uncle guy was a mighty warrior and they had won, or else he had died and they were honoring him, which Astot pointed out would also imply their victory. However, it turns out to be something much different. Soon, there's a commotion about pulling a lever, and how their mayor is stuck outside, but right under the bridge so don't pull the lever, and a hole he made in the wall. Soon, their leader, followed by a trail of pet rabbits, came to us and started talking with Astot. The leader had learned a bit of Goblin, so they could communicate. I got the gist and didn't like it. When Kutsmob and I asked her what it meant, Astot didn't say anything. That really took the joy out of our evening diversions, although Kutsmob didn't quite get it. That's the night I started writing the first draft of this, scratching a little pebble someone threw at Astot that day (we got hit with a lot of them) on a larger, flatter bit of rubble someone threw at me.
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In the last weeks of summer, as the first tinges of red touched the leaves of the trees, Mondul Ostarnekol Ibruksostet, coati monster, master of The Riddled Doom, felt something. It stared out at the horizons towards the north.
“What is it, Master?” asked an elven attendant of the mighty beast.
“Trouble,” stated Mondul. “Trouble...from the dwarves. We must destroy their prison, leave no good dwarf alive.”
Author
Topic: Zonnish, "Helmtrades," a Community High-Security Prison (Read 8954 times)