I edited the list of migrants to be more clear, and I fixed the "Hellcannon" typos. I do know the name of the fort, honest!
ThatAussieDwarf is currently disguised as a competent marksdwarf with adequate animal training skills. Armok knows what he's building. Saint is still alive and well - Legendary Miner and Grand Master Marksdwarf.
SpringCramped and dank, the dungeon cell was still no more sparse than the meager accommodations most of the workers here would ever reside in. The vampire was even provided a table and chair as befitting a noble bookkeeper of her standing.
Too kind for a monster.
The birthmark was neatly hidden by the weeping blisters that once were the vampire's eyes. Now that I've seen it up close, I'd wager a month's booze that our vampire is none other than Channelglaze, the terror of Fiercefences.
I've asked Sheriff Spishaban to begin interrogating her. It would be useful to know her origins and agenda.
Since it seems the best use for it, I've asked Space to make similar weapons out of our remaining silver.
I've also had him craft a menacing silver spike with which we may smite the vampire if necessary. Everyone knows vampires hate silver.
I've been getting notes from a dwarf named Kirby, who calls himself the Soap Warrior despite having barely any skills relating to either warfare or soap making. He does seem to know how soap is made, however, and was polite enough to point out that there isn't a single bar of soap in the entire fort. Neither is there any lye, nor any prepared ash with which to produce some. I tried to get some wood burned, but we ran out of logs making bins and shields so we're chopping down the mushroom trees that grew in our entrance hall over the past few years. It's been a long day.
Gigozin has yet to identify the cause of that cat's sudden death, to his consternation. One of the militia dwarves, apparently its owner, was sitting beside her deceased pet in the hospital, wailing as she held the mostly-rotten cat in a tight embrace. And by mostly-rotten, I mean entirely putrefied, and by cat I mean the oozing pulp left over from a putrefied cat. I hope whatever killed it isn't contagious.
Eric has been officially titled as Baron, now that the liaison has left. As the dwarf most experienced with combat, I've recommended Saint's appointment as fortress Champion.
Caught in a snowstorm, hmm? I suppose that hole in our roof should be fixed.
Eric has taken to the nobility like a natural. He's already issuing me death threats! I'm not sure what he means by "forced to drink slime" but I'm sure that's just hyperbole. No one's forcing anyone to drink anything.
Anyway, hopefully he appreciates the house prepared by the miners, unquestionably the most desirous living space in all the fort. The last thing we need is a baron driven to misery by a withholding of proper quarters.
It turns out the odd room with all the cages was prepared by Eric for the purpose of animal training. Our current trainers appear to need practice, so it's quite a useful sounding construction indeed. You'd think with the awesome Cave Spider we have, we'd have a really great animal trainer somewhere in the fort, but with my luck, it's likely the trainer's corpse is stumbling around outside in just the right spot to greet the next migrant wave. The crundles are about as well-trained as something very poorly trained. We've even had to put a few of them down.
In other news, today I met Strategia, the "Legless Prophet of Cheese."
As evinced by her title, Strategia is a widowed cheesemaker who has, at some point in the past, parted with both of her legs below the knees. Worse, they have her hauling around goods like a mule, making her crawl around in the dirt, struggling to haul a set of plate to the stockpile ten floors down. I tried offering her a hand, but you know how prideful her sort can be.
I find myself wondering why dwarves have not invented a chair with wheels. Seems like such a simple concept.
Wonderful news indeed, a monstrous lobster was spotted lurking the depths of the third cavern, and since the military are still getting their equipment together, it could probably kill us all if it somehow entered the fort. Fortunately, the fortress is sealed off from the caverns, so there's no way it can get inside.
And now I hear screams. Be right back.
Well, that could have turned out poorly. A wall I thought was there wasn't actually ever built, and the beast managed to break ThatAussieDwarf's leg before armeggedonCounselor snuck up behind the beast and dropped a hammer in the monster's head, painting the hallway and both dwarves in the so-called "deadly blood" that smells an awful lot like a lobster stew.
The hallway needs to be smoothed over before any more cats begin to melt.
Local Mad Prophet Newbunkle emerged from his bedroom one morning and made a sputtering march straight for the magma foundry. There, he kicked Space out of his forge and grabbed the nearest piece of refined adamantine and started to work.
I like where this is going.
I think I'll be keeping that axe. Sadly, Newbunkle is unable to recall anything from the moment of leaving his bedroom. I've put him to work making plate and mail, since Space is not quite so thrilled to be making the armor and the fighters are starting to complain about the sharp edges.
Some of the soldiers are going so far as to remove their clothing entirely in protest. I'm uncertain about this place. Dwarves should know better in this day and age, the nudist mania was thought eradicated decades ago.
Note to self: no more military woodcutters.
In other news, an elven caravan came into view on a moonlit night towards the end of spring, only to be attacked by skelk within seconds. As the elves ineffectually fled for their lives, a strange monster appeared at the edge of the wood.
Some kind of werecaribou, it seems. It ran after one of the traders and started grabbing objects off the merchant's pack donkey until it took hold of a crutch. In a remarkable turn, the beast then slowed to a crawl as it started hobbling forward with the crutch, as though it were being irresistably compelled to walk with it.
Weremoose: Dabbling Crutch-walkerThe crutch saved the elf's life. Ten stone of adamantine says they were going to try and fence that accursed thing on us. By now, the elves still around were all dead and walking about in the slime, and there was no sense in opening the hatch.
The werebeast smashed up a lot of undead, and by morning it had metamorphosed into a frog person.
I tasked EmeraldWind to go in the lookout and shoot it. She reported shooting it until it ran away to have a fatal encounter with a skeledonkey, and further expressed disappointment that another kill could not be added to her growing list.
I'm calling her 'Valkyrie' from now on.
* * *
"So, how many are we looking at?"
"Not counting undead, bookkeeping shows a tally of five hundred and fifty four corpses within our territory. When the Sensitive Picks first arrived here, there were... hold, on, let me see... twenty.
"That is Nexusv's own accounting, you know. Are you sure that isn't an exaggerated number?"
"If anything, I think the amount is understated. You've seen what it looks like out there."
"That's... well... a lot of corpses."
"Yes, Sheriff."
"Can you imagine what would happen if a necromancer paid us a visit?"
"I can. I imagine that's why Eric had the vampire out there collecting the bodies. But collecting them won't do any good. They need to be sealed away."
"Perhaps Nexusv should be set free to continue cleaning up the surface. She had a pick the entire time she was outside - if she wanted to destroy the fort, she could have sabotaged the walls long ago."
"If we set the monster free, it will eventually kill again. That is a certainty."
"Well then. The law prescribes a noble four hundred days in prison, two hundred for each conviction. After that she'll be free to go, unless she is to be executed. But think carefully on the decision. She's the only one who can go out there safely. You have to know how valuable that makes her."
"Indeed I do, Sheriff. A properly tamed vampire could be immensely useful. But you must know what the punishment for vampirism is."
"Then..."
"I'll seek a stay of execution from the Baron, pending the paperwork. In the meantime, try not to let it out of the cell."
"Not to worry. The bars are solid iron."
"And if it does manage to escape?"
"She won't. I've studied her for some time. She's afraid enough of mortality, if you know the right threats, and I don't think vampires are immune to magma."
* * *
*OOC: I actually wanted to avoid getting Nexus imprisoned. It must have happened when the migrants came, because that's the only time the fort was unlocked, but I didn't actually see Spish go outside, so I think Nexus actually went back in and got herself arrested. She's still covered in fetid muck, and so is her pick, so I've forbidden her gear until we have a shower system.
Author
Topic: Horrorfailed the Battle-Cannon of Hell - Please do not feed the nobles (Read 578276 times)