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[Giver99]

Oh Ya totaly......... I cant Find the Weasel Corpse just its blood!



i went out the other day to despose of the boddy only to notice it was not in the location where it should have been Im Kinda Scared...But lets keep that Beetween Us ok

But we finished a Bunk house and Made a Depot so as to trade.
and then Deconstructed it so we got all of the stuff

[Nidilap]

Hey guys, while we wait for our turns, let's make back stories of our dorfs. I'll go first.

Found from a leather-bound journal on the outskirts of IronFist:

" It has been several weeks since we left the warm, dimly lit mountain homes. I miss the place already. Ale, meats, and beds all our own, all left behind for an outpost. Well, I can't really complain. I did volunteer, and I know the outpost is for the good of dwarf kind. But why we had to go so far, and right smack dab in the middle of Goblins and Necromancers? There must be some... Adaman- no, it can't be. I'm also kind of glad that I joined this expedition. My masonry is gonna be a boon for IronFist, and the engraving of Dwarven history is very important for Dwarven education, as minimalistic as it is. Plus, who doesn't like to stare at a pretty picture while scoffing mushrooms and chugging booze?"

[WoobMonkey]

The following was found among the personal effects of WoobMonkey, Chief Medical Dwarf of Datandur, "IronFist:"  It is a Human-skin journal.  All craftsdwarfship is of the highest quality.  It is bound in dwarf skin leather, and adorned with hanging rings of goblin earlobes.  On the cover is an image of WoobMonkey and dwarfs in dwarf tallow soap.  WoobMonkey is cackling. The dwarfs are cowering.  On the spine is an image of. . .  (the rest has been blurred and worn down with the effect of time.)

     The day has come.  Finally, finally, after wasting so many years under High Royal Surgeon General Cobururdum, hauling buckets of water to that well and back to the ungrateful little lazy snits in the hospital back in Gitmuknistêm. . . .  But nevermind, those seemingly endless years are behind me, now.

     You see, I'm finally been granted the opportunity to pursue my own studies.  At last, I'll be able to research the grand questions of Dwarfen biology, to uncover explanations for the greatest mysteries of life!  I'm to be a Chief Medical Dwarf of my very own fortress - some backwater called Datandur.

     I hear there are goblins about; this is good.  I've a hypothesis concerning the possible shared ancestry of goblins and . . . but I outpace myself.  It's enough to know that where there are goblins, there's a need for a military.  Where's there's a military, there's a constant stream of subjects from whom I can learn a great deal.  After all, no dwarf in his right mind would ever allow me to cut open is chest, to ascertain for myself whether our hearts are made of tiny mechanisms, like that crazy suturer Catten Rothdodok back home thinks (and what would she know, being just a thread-jockey?), or, rather, operate more in the fashion of a screw pump, which is my own, more reasonable position. 

     But I digress.  The point is, nobody would let me experiment if I were to just ask; believe me, I've tried.  But a dwarf on a stretcher, quickly bleeding out, is in absolutely no position to argue when I explain that one must check on the heart directly, to make sure the emergency booze ventricular assembly is in proper condition to withstand the system shock.  At least, so the reasoning goes.

     But it gets even better: there are rumours of that fabled panacea, adamantine, in the area!  I may finally get the chance to discover whether the tensile strength of strands made therefrom can be used in suturing, with a higher efficiency and less material cost than that Triple-Weave Pig Tail Design® of Catten's.  Imagine that - me, WoobMonkey, Diagnostician, proving more able a Suturer than the Royal Family's own!

     The others with me are whispering of necromancers.  What an opportunity!  Perhaps, if my improvements to our basic squads' internal make-up work as planned, we'll be able to defeat a few, and I'll finally wrest the **SECRETS OF LIFE AND DEATH** for my own!  At the very least, an extra threat from the outside ought to help keep up the supply of case studies in my hospital.

      The future holds no bounds, for I am a free dwarf at last!

In the margin beneath this is scribbled: 'Good thing, too - they were beginning to <unintelligable>... away before they <unintelligable> body <the rest is smudged beyond any hope of deciphering>.

[Urist McVoyager]

(Haha, in Waterburned over on TVTropes, Condorito the boozesmith got sent into the circus as a soldier, got wounded, and was sutured up with Adamantine strands. His player loved that while everyone else was bemoaning the waste of Adamantium, between jokes about how awesome it was. Note, I am NOT Condorito.)

From the journal of Edmund the booze-smith:

From humble beginnings great things can happen. I've spent years producing the same boring shit-beer from the same boring shit-crops and it's time for a change. I've been assigned to the outpost of Datundur, Ironfist, and guess what? There's a bloody aquifer blocking our way. You know what this means? SURFACE LIFE! New crops, new alcohol. Can I brew rope reed? Will Hide Root produce excellent flavor? Or maybe I'll try distilling the essences of those berries I see over there. If I get good enough, maybe I can outbrew those stinking Elves and become world famous. I know! I'll experiment with adding tree bark to wine! That'll show those filthy tree humpers!

[Nidilap]

Diary entry 2:

I've noticed that some of my fellow founding fathers of IronFist are quite... Interesting, if not bat shit insane. The Medical one keeps on muttering about ancient ancestors, and goblins, and secrets about something or other. As long as he knows what he's doing, I'll keep my nose out of it.

The brewer is quite an eccentric, as well. Proclaiming something about outclassing elves. I like him already. But he's devoted on putting every damn thing he can find on the ground in his booze ration. I hope all of that pays off, and that he doesn't put something in the booze to poison the whole fort.

The expedition leader is pretty nice, but seems to look over his shoulder A LOT. I hope he doesn't think of himself as something higher than an expedition leader. I hope even more that he doesn't assume we're planning a coup, or anything.

The other three dwarves have been quieter. I bet they'll show their colors soon.

With all these nuts around, I think I'm gonna like it here.

[Giver99]

Im Getting Paranoid And have to constantly watch my back That Dwarf Nidlap i think is his Name Keep's Looking at me strangely

And when the Weasel Corps Went missing The One called Woobmonkey Started to Cackle In a very Maniacal Way.....Have to Watch always Watch.....Watch......Listen.......Watch...   

[Urist McVoyager]

Diary Entry two of Edmund the brewer:

I hope everyone likes the hint of weasel in the beer tomorrow. Armok knows it was fun chopping the little thing up and squeezing out all the flavor. Well, here's hoping I've started a new thing. Weasel beer! Well, I've gotta go now. I want to catch and drain every little kill we make before that psycho healer gets her hands on it for experimenting.

[WoobMonkey]

From the private files of WoobMonkey, Chief Medical Dwarf of IronFist:

     This place is better suited to my needs than I had anticipated.  Just today, our expedition leader, Subject Alpha (cross-ref. file#1001 'psychology, paranoid'), was seen running the entry hall, yammering about some missing ferret or something.  Apparently it was killed, and yet the corpse has disappeared.

     Working hypotheses: 

i) It's not really dead.  Dwarfs tend not to be too observant, and rodents are survivors.  Perhaps the hunter was too sober, and mistook a whimpering animal for a dead one?  Should this be the case, these weasels are much more tenacious than I had considered, and are worth further investigation (c. ref. #283 'splicing:rodentia');

ii) Someone/thing already grabbed the body.  Where there is prey, there are predators.  Where there are predators, there are scavengers.  This is amply demonstrated by the case of our own Mountainhome: a wide base of prey animals leads to the top predator rising to an unassailable position; beneath him run the base scavengers, taking what they can of what's left over (c.ref #188 'Cobururdum:spoils'; #394 'Catten<sub:fail>');

iii) There really are some of the Ancient Wise Ones in the vicinity.  In my heart of loins, this is the outcome for which I most hope.

     Our brewer, Subject Beta, seems to have an unhealthy obsession with plants.  I suspect he may be of tainted lineage: elf genes, once introduced to pure dwarfen stock, require much much selective breeding to weed out.  Sadly, no such breeding program has existed for hundreds of years, and I currently lack the resources to implement one here.

     Our mason is a strange case.  Though I deem him incompatable with the furtherance of my plans, he still seems useful for the moment.  I will need good operating tables, and a temperature-controlled laboratory, if I am to get anywhere in my research.  Perhaps I can persuade him to build me one?

     There are other dwarfs here, but I refrain from getting attached to them.  An important aspect of true science is impartiality; knowing their names may well taint my observations.  Can't afford to dwarfthropomorphize the stock - it would only make culling the herd more difficult.

     It seems our leader has also taken it upon himself to have all of the last caravan's goods stolen from them.  Disregarding useless questions of ethics (c.ref. #3, 'impediments to research - trivial'), one is still left wondering why?  It can only serve to further bring the wrath of His Majesty upon us, and for what?  A bunch of useless trinkets, some sickly livestock, and an increased likelihood of goblin ambushes and thieves?  Not that I'm complaining; this can only serve to speed the development of my experimental program.

     I must convince the carpenter and the mechanic to lay out some cages - I expect I'll need some live subjects sooner rather than later.

Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)

We need to airlock our entrance right away.  If there are really Necros in the neighbourhood, it might already be too late.  Also, is that an archery range, out front of the entrance?  I'm not sure of the wisdom of having our rookies directly in harm's way while training.

[Giver99]

No i dont have an archery Place set up im in the process of making a training barack's and a Secure dumping Ground

[Giver99]

Walls Walls We Need Walls Walls and Gate's i Need a Room A safe Room A safe Place A Secure Place......Zombie's Zombie's And Goblin's Dwarfs And Axes Axes And Dwarf's

dwarf Axe My Head My Head There Axe Need To Be Save Need To Execute Them Need To Be Free Safe And Free, Safe And Free, And....................NEED............Safe

[Nidilap]

Diary Entry 3:

The surgeon has been asking me to build several tables for him. He says it's for the Hospital and it will improve his "research". I may as well give him, say, 5 or 6 stone Tables. That should satiate him until later.

My booze had bits and hair in it. When I informed the brewer, you know what he said?
"Did you enjoy it?". I stormed off in anger, but I did enjoy the extra protein in my drink. When I talked to the leader about it, he paled and sprinted off somewhere, crying over something along the lines of,
"I'm poisoned by Weasel!!!".

The carpenter made several bunkers, and I assisted in the Trade Depot. Now that that's in place, I should get to making stone trinkets for trade. It'll get us more meat and booze, and maybe some chickens, if we're lucky.

[Urist McVoyager]

Entry 3 of the Brewer Edmund's journal:

I was snooping around the healer's space, making sure I hadn't missed any kills, and I found her files on us. What a dingbat! "Unhealthy obsession with plants" my ass! Without plants, all us dwarves would be *Gulps* SOBER!

[Giver99]

First Year of Ironfist- Autumn - Winter
Winter is Coming the First Specs of snow are Forming And im Worried Im Not sure if we will Have enough Booze Because we have not yet set up a Brewery And im not sure how our Brewer is Able to Make them But somehow He does and apart from making it out of Weasel Its really good Booze.
So when The Supply caravan from The Mountain Home came I tricked them into giving me There intire load of thing’s For a few Pieces of raw Fish More Booze For all!
But That Doctor I think he wants to experiment on me!
He Keep’s letting Slip the word’s Test Subject Number one whenever im around And I think he’s going to push me into insanity I don’t want to Be tested I want to live not die not….Die…..Not…..Die…..Not…..Die…….Live!
My life is to Precious to Be wasted For science…Im Needed Right?
Im im Gona die Im Gona Die I don’t want To Die I don’t I I Don’t.   

[Nidilap]

Diary entry 4:

The expedition leader is one clever dwarf. He tricked the Dwarven Caravan into giving us their entire inventory of booze for a couple bits of Fish! He seems really paranoid now, though. I bet he's regretting his actions. I tried to console him, but when he saw me walking toward him, he cried out "I'm not a test subject!!!". I wonder if he's fit to oversee us.

The doc has been really quiet. She seemed kinda upset about something. I think I heard her mutter something about the lack of sieges. I think he may need a nap. She also has been eyeing the leader in a way that seems... Intimate. I wonder if they, naw, cannae be.

Well, autumn is near over. The first snows have fallen, and our fort seems promising to survive. I hope the next migrant wave has some farmers and peasants, though. I'm sick of hauling wood for the carpenter. I shouldn't haul something I won't use. Plus, I want to get some more tables and thrones ready for the Meeting Hall. Migrants always want to rest after their trek, and I don't blame 'em.

[WoobMonkey]

<From the files of WoobMonkey, Chief Medical Dwarf of expedition codename "IronFist">:

     Winter approaches, incrementally, as do my research protocols.  While the others prepare to settle in from the cold, my mind is ablaze with memories from my studies.  I recall the great tome of the human researcher, 'Philip' Lombardo (so named, one hears, because he loved horses for their herding), wherein he details his experiments in imprisonment of young Humans.  Dwarfs are made of sterner stuff, to be sure (humans' livers, for example, are NOT strengthened by strong drink - abominable, but I digress), but as the half-formed protocol he outlines is smoothed in the rock tumbler of my mind, it slowly shapes itself more and more clearly before my eyes.

     I am also reminded of the cold depths of - but no, too soon, too soon.

     The others around here have taken to calling our little outpost by the name 'IronFist.'  Even in their ignorance of my intent, the subjects have come suspiciously close to gleaning my hidden hopes.  Perhaps this is a sign of the return of Dwarfen Telepathy, in some rudimentary form?  I must test this further.

     I have also etched a formal request for the position of Bookkeeper on the top of our nicest dining table.  If DT has truly resurged in our blood, then I ought to be able to hone and refine my own capabilities from such a position.  When Subject One has finally listened to the quiet whispers I've been administering to him in his sleep, and with full ability to know what's happening to all dwarfs (and precious, precious materials), it should be no great difficulty in eventually taking the reins of this outpost, for the glory of all great KNOWLEDGE.

     There is, however, a new mystery, even if a minor one: my cabinet smells of rancid weasel, and there are smudges of sticky pig tail sap on the handle.  I will have to keep an eye out, or put an eye out - I've never been good at colloquialisms, but I must learn to use some, if I am to secure my position.

    -WM, Timber 12.

Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)

 Any chance of getting some screens of the fortress status, and of the dwarfs themselves?