1st HematiteThe epidemic of complete and utter insanity continues. One of our useless immigrants - of which we seem to have an endless supply - has renamed himself "Nix" and declared that he wants to be a professional wrestler. Why? He won't say. He just shouts a lot, shows off his nonexistent muscles, and goes around asking others if they can smell what the rocks are cooking. Which makes even less sense than it seems to, really, since I've ordered the kitchens closed until we can stock up on raw food.
3rd HematiteThe Squeezing Treaties have
finally gotten around to training. I think that I may have "Nix" to thank for this, as crazy as he might be; he seemed awfully eager to get to wrestling some of the other dwarves. He might have managed to convince the rest that they should be as eager to train as he is. Perhaps this wave of insanity can have some positive effects after all.
18th HematiteThose thrice-cursed elves that have been loitering in our trade depot for the past few weeks are
just now considering leaving. It's about damned time, in my opinion. I can't stand those freakishly tall mockeries of the dwarven form.
Incidentally, I've placed a standing order for complete clear-cutting of all indigenous trees within a mile of Abbeyhames.
22nd Hematite
Ushrir Solonmetos, the mason who was struck with temporary madness previously, has been refusing to do any actual masonry since completing his "masterwork". He claims that he's needed this long to recuperate. Our "chief doctorin' dwarf" agrees, so I can't just order him to get back in there, but
I say he'll take any excuse to be allowed to hang around doing nothing, filling himself with the elven wine we just traded for.
Can't stand the stuff myself. Not enough substance to it. Good dwarven ale, that's what I need. That elven stuff has no
flavor. There's no
substance to it. How can you even call it booze if it's so thin you can hardly chew it?
But whatever. I've drafted someone else to temporarily take Ushrir's place in the mason's workshop until he feels like getting off his lazy ass and getting back to work. We need more doors around here.
26th HematiteMorul Dyedrums came into my bedroom this morning. Rather than wake me up pleasantly by stripping down and sliding under the covers as I had hoped, however, she started raving about how I couldn't order the export of any more bracelets. When I asked her what in the hells she was going on about, she said that, as "Mayor of Abbeyhames", she was ordering that all export of bracelets be halted immediately.
I asked her when the hell she'd become mayor. She said she'd been elected a few weeks ago. I asked her who the hell she thought was in charge of this place. She said she was, as per the will of the people. I asked her if she thought she'd actually be able to get any shit done around here. She said she could do better than I have.
I told her to go and grab a pick, and that she could resume her whining as soon as she'd dug out as much of this mountain as I have. In the meantime, she's agreed to stop badgering me as long as I set her up with a nicer room. I can't stand to listen to that shrieking any more, so I agreed. But one day, Dyedrums, there will come a reckoning. And when that day comes, I will be the victor.
5th MalachiteThe road has
finally been completed.
Welcome to civilization, Abbeyhames. Maybe now you won't be such a horrible, horrible place to live.
Then again, maybe it'll just make it easier for the goblins to get in.
10th MalachiteStill.
No.
Metal.I've ordered several expansions of the mining area over the past few days. I'm deepening the mine shaft as well, so that we can start searching for ores deeper down. I'm starting to get desperate.
16th MalachiteAnother wave of useless migrants. And just as I'd managed to get everybody in the fort working, too. I'm going to have to find something for all of these lazy asses to do as well, and we're still entirely without any metal whatsoever. That means that about half the industries available to your average, not-metal-starved fortress are closed to us. We're gonna have to work to find something to take the place of metal for the time being.
Because the gods hate me. It isn't enough that I was sent here in the first place. They have to keep heaping more and more administrative work on me while denying me access to even a single bar of good, solid iron.
25th MalachiteThe migrants seem to have found work all right, after a short adjustment period. Or, rather, I found work for them, because everybody here is functionally brain-dead.
Fortunately, there's a huge herd of kangaroos outside, and Bomrek is getting to be a great hunter. We've got plenty of meat to feed all these new drains on our resources.
27th MalachiteA pack of dingos decided that it wanted a share of the kangaroo meat Bomrek has been harvesting. By the time news got back to me, though, he'd already murdered all of them, dragged their carcasses back to his butcher shop, chopped them up, and gotten some other dwarves to start on the tanning.
I respect this dwarf like no one else in Abbeyhames.
28th MalachiteWell, at least he's enjoying himself with all that zinc-encrusting.
3rd GalenaI thought he already was. Then again, this is Abbeyhames. Everyone here is absolutely gods-damned insane, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it took this long to register.