You spawn 10,000 years in the past and promptly fall into the sea. This is a fairly new island, after all.
Your tribe's traders hear word of a new land. Somewhere fresh, undiscovered. It has taken you a few months to amass your ships and convince the local tribe-leaders to join you, but it is done. As you catch sight of land from the prow of your warship, you feel flushed with hope, with excitement. A new land, a new start. Truly, it is your turn now. The possibili- Wait.
Oh, no.
Oh,
HELL NOChapter 2: A Vile Force of Darkness has arrived.
invent airships. Form military. Then invade remuthra.
Your craftment still don't take your wild theories about flying boats seriously, but they do make some makeshift weapons for your fledgeling militia. As winter hits it's coldest, you decide your troops are ready, but are suddenly surprised by a screaming mass of incoherent cultists. They swarm over the border en masse, losing one or two to bowfire, but your stone walls and defenses, combined with your rookie troops manage to fell them almost to a man. There will be much burying for the survivors of the battle to do. You feel relieved this occurred in winter - in summer, they would rot before you could commit them to the earth/sea/fire/other[
delete as applicable]. Nevertheless, this will be a hard, cold winter.
Blah blah blah Hats blah blah blah Jihad
Your abortive drug-fueled attack on Tavik Toth's trained armies is not so much a success. You have barely a handful of colonists now - and most of the survivors are the non-religious loonies who sailed you here.
((whats our tech? Basic tribal?))
Create hunting tools (spears, bows, etc) and then hunt for pelts and food! We must survive the winter!
((Medieval, but you don't got no metal))
You hunt down some of the local wildlife to make warm furred clothes for your large colony, and make some shoddy weapons out of sinew-bound rock and wood.
Expand along the entirety of the river I am on, building farms and fishing as we do.
You clear the wilds down almost to the rivermouth where you abandoned your ship, but fish are scarce in winter and the ground is frozen solid. You also construct more log housing, colonists huddling inside as the colds howl.
send scouting parties to investigate the roar-crash, start planting the seeds we received from poketwo. Begin work on some basic forges and the like with ores received from Aseaheru.
Your attempts at planting seeds are not great. Eventually your would-be farmers give up hacking at the icy ground. Your smelting, however, is a great success. Everyone wants to be a smith, a smelter, an ore-carrier - anything to be away from the cold. You smelt the ores, obtaining a number of shiny metal bars, as well as some dull metal. You didn't bring a metalsmith, however, and are clueless to their identity. The teams you sent out to investigate the crash return with twisted lumps of frozen-hard fabric, as well as metal wire and some sort of twisted metal lump.
Build mines.
You order your crew to drop everything but hunting to search for minerals. You send some of them, cursing in the cold, upstream, where they construct a log cabin over the stream and pan for fragments of metal, while others dig a rickety shaft deep into the fragmented soil and rock that composes the area. The cabin team find flakes of a blue-ish metal, as well as a dull yellow substance that smells foul. The mining team finds chunks of ore you are more certain about - Hematite. You're glad you brought a good prospector with you. A forge is set up, underground to minimise building, and work on smelting begins.
Continue smelting ores, train militia better, and become trading hub.
Your ore-smelting goes well. You get some rough bars of the stuff this time, instead of just solidified puddles. You beat some of it out to make spearheads for your militia. The training in your militia isn't going so well, however. One of your recruits stabbed himself in the foot a few days ago. Trading is slowing down significantly, but the East Colonists keep sending grumpy people in carts of the stuff to you.
The storms howl around the camp. The temperature drops again, winter is tightening it's grip on the colonists.
Thanks, people.
Nobody is guarding their caravans yet - hardly anyone has militia. You have no idea he's there - he is leagues away, over a mountain, in the depths of winter.
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Topic: (IRtD) Roll to Die/Revive/Dwarf/Derail. The End of Gia. (Read 633143 times)