In the early spring of 251, a group of seven stalwart dwarves came to rest by a brook alongside a road between two human cities, and decided that the temperate, heavilly-wooded forest would make a fine place for a fortress. They would call their new home Ginetoltar, or "Crewedgilds."
Quickly setting to work, the wagon was torn down as two miners began to hollow out the hill east of the brook, while the rest set out gathering wood, plants and seafood. It did not take long for the miners to strike through the soil and find siltstone, kaolinite, hematite, tetrahedrite, and - to the surprise of all - native platinum with which to begin the various stone- and metal-based industries.
Before a month had passed, the expedition's mason and architect, Urist Brasscounselled, had built enough tables, chairs and statues out of the surrounding rock to build a fantastic dining hall - the hardships of the fort's early days were soon forgotten amid the celebrations and fine liquors. Meanwhile, the carpenter, Kulit Polishedwhip, had set to building beds, barrels, bins and buckets, while the miners, Cerol Helmslistens and Edam Plankslid, began to explore the depths.
While the booze was flowing freely, fueled by the abundant above-ground plantlife, the eventual need for water remained on everyone's mind. This land was reported to contain an aquifer layer, but after digging down for 50 levels, none had been found. The carpenter was ordered to build a pipe section and an enormous corkscrew, while the miners began to excavate a pit beneath the opening to the fort - a cistern! The brook ran with foul, murky water, thoroughly unfit for drinking, yet it was known that a pump - by some arcane sorcery - could render the filthiest water potable. The pump was built, and the hitherto useless broker, Reg Fencedcalm, was put to work operating it. By autumn, Crewedgilds had water - and its first wave of immigrants!
Hot on these brave dwarves' heels came the first trade caravan - bringing with them much-needed anvils, picks and tools. The stonecrafter, Amost Fireclasps, had already become legendary in his craftsdwarfship and had produced many exceptional works which fetched a high price. The trading went well, and the fort could now explore the depths with renewed vigor - though the newly-acquired anvil sat in storage. Ore was abundant, the metalworks could begin at any time, but there seemed to be a strange aversion to it. Someone was dead-set on building the metal industry on magma power, yet none could be found - even a hundred levels deep...
Just as the caravan was packing up to leave, a vile force of darkness cast its pall upon the fledgling fort - goblins! In the rush to build out, Crewedgilds had not yet established a militia - or even built any traps - to deal with what everyone knew was inevitable. Thankfully, the caravan's mighty guards obliterated the invaders before any damage could be done. A close call, and a lesson learned. The population was deemed to small to seriously consider building an army, but one of the newly-arrived migrants was assigned the task of constructing mechanisms from the now-abundant rock, and the carpenter was tasked with building cages...
102 levels below, the miners finally breached the first layer of subterranean caverns, releasing spores which would make the soil-rich upper levels burst with plant life. Just below, the second and third layers were found - along with a twisting vein of glistening raw adamantine! They decided to leave it for now as they continued to probe for magma.
Before a magma-fueled metal industry could be established, however, a dwarf named Udib Faintgirders, whose skill and experience as a weaponsmith were going to waste as he hauled rocks back and forth within the fort, suddenly dropped his burden and ran - or rather, slinked suspiciously, to the dining hall, where he stood, pacing back and forth, seemingly waiting for something. Every industry had already been established - masonry, carpentry, crafts, clothing, leatherworks, jewelry - everything except for metalworks! Realizing what was going on, a fellow out-of-work blacksmith grabbed the anvil and hastily assembled a forge from the nearby stockpile of microcline blocks. Bars of various metals had been purchased from visiting caravans, but no fuel had yet been produced - no matter, Udib seemed to power the forge from the sheer mania of his work as he produced Lorem Emal - the Cathedral of Sensing - a platinum spear of the finest quality! This artifact, like none made before it, seemed to inspire awe by its mere presence. Reg the broker appraised its worth at over 110000☼, truly a craftwork fit for a king!
Around this time, the summer of 253, another wave of immigrants arrived. They were quickly put to work fulfilling various roles needed fulfillment, just as those before them had. Soon after, however, strange things started happening. Frightening things.
DEATH.
One after another, dwarves who had gone to rest in the magnificent dormitory in perfect health were being found the next morning dead, seemingly drained of all blood! Rumors and paranoia gripped the fortress, for a vampire was in their midst, and everyone was a suspect. Within a few days, a handful of witnessed emerged - all children, oddly enough - who reported seeing one of the recent arrivals, Nomal Ceilingmatched, behaving strangely around one of the victims on the night of his death. An investigation of the accused's history turned up some strange details - namely, for a dwarf of only 53 years, she had been a member of an oddly large number of past civilizations, and claimed to be the wife of a dwarf for whom no records could be found. In the paranoid atmosphere of the fear-stricken fort, that was enough - Nomal was thrown, not into the opulent therapy center which passed as Crewedgilds' "jail", but into one of the (as-of-yet unused) marksdwarves' pillboxes on the surface, which was then sealed shut.
That three years passed without so much as a complaint of thirst proved her guilt. But dwarves were still dying - she wasn't alone.
What followed was nothing less than a witch hunt, as every citizen's history was scoured for evidence of evil nature. While there were no witnesses, one dwarf's records bore the same suspicious markers as Nomal's - an armorer by the name of Nish Urngazes, who by sheer chance had just been named the fort's new mayor. Stripped of her title and cast into the oubliette, her nature was similarly revealed in the infallible court of thirst, or lack thereof in her case. The murders stopped, and life in Crewedgilds was back to normal, though with an aire of vigilance.
Finally, the miners' exhaustive explorations of the deepest layers of the earth struck warm, molten paydirt - the magma sea was breached, just one level below the deepest depths of the caves! No time was wasted establishing the magma-fueled metalworks which everyone had dreamed of since the colony - now a dutchy - was established. Indeed, not long after, a recent bit of bribery paid off as word of the King's arrival spread through the fort. His demands for royal accommodations were easy enough to satisfy; a 6x6 cell crammed full of containers, a bed, chair, table - and a weapon trap loaded with the legendary Lorem Emal - met his needs for quarters, a dining room and an audience chamber. A golden sarcophagus built within a hollowed-out adamantine vein made for a satisfactory tomb, without need for further adornments.
Some had suggested that the king's office be placed in the vein as well - along with a pick, and a suggestion that more strands could be found below - but these ideas were dismissed. His Majesty's mandates seemed reasonable enough, so no immediate need was seen for him to meet with an unfortunate fate.
It was around this time, in the aftermath of yet another goblin siege, that the need for an army started to be taken seriously. The king's entourage included many mighty warriors, whom unfortunately lacked any useful civilian skills, so they were hastily organized into a military unit and put on a training rotation. Meanwhile, it was decided that the pillboxes and watchtowers built on the surface in the fort's early days - including the one which contained the rotten, arrow-laden corpses of the blood-sucking abominations who inspired terror and paranoia in years past - should finally be put to use. A squad of marksdwarves was drafted from the populace, led by the King - himself an accomplished crossbowdwarf. An archery range was built, complete with a magazine and a recovery channel for spent bolts - but, as the days, weeks and months went by, not a single shot was fired. The would-be marksdwarves drilled and sparred in their nearby barracks, but refused to train their most essential skill!
The solution was obvious - if their archery targets weren't good enough for them (despite being built from solid gold), they'd need something else to shoot at - and the animal stockpile in the far corner of the main hoard level was filled nearly to capacity with red-eyed, green-skinned targets. A pit was carved beside an old mine tunnel, the goblins were tossed in, and those who survived the fall were pelted to death by a hail of slow, clumsily-aimed crossbow bolts. The process was repeated until the supply of prisoners was exhausted, by which time the Keys of Infamy were a true fighting force! And just in time, for another siege had arrived. No visiting caravan was around to defend Crewedgilds this time, but it mattered not, for the fortresses' own militia repelled the invaders in an orgy of blood and severed body parts! The marksdwarves shot the goblin general's giant bat out from under him, and the fleeing forces were mercilessly slaughtered by the melee squad.
Years passed, and Crewedgilds' wealth grew to levels beyond the most fantastic legends. A population of 174 worked, ate, drank and slept in unsurpassed opulence. A complete lack of flux stone proved no problem, for the caravans from the Outer Lands brought marble and limestone each year, and the humans had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of steel armor and goods to feed the smelter. A grand project began to rework the land, optimizing hauling routes to speed trade. A wide passageway was dug, leading directly from the trade depot to the storage and workshop space within the main fortress.
Though it was lined with innumerable traps, it still proved to be a source of... fun.
The goblin siege of late winter, 259 began as all others had - with a flurry of bolts from the towers, taking out many of the invaders before they could even approach the fort. A wave of attackers, driving an army of trolls before them, made for the newly-redesigned trade depot. They arrived at a 3x5 field of cage traps, and paused.
They thought for a moment. And then, they advanced.
A full legion of goblins and trolls marched into the traps, sacrificing themselves to clear the way for the hordes who followed behind. They charged unopposed into the tunnel which led directly into the main fortress. The dwarven militia were scrambled to defend the fort, but it was no use - they were mowed down by the overwhelming numbers of the invading forces. The attackers then poured into the dining hall and dormitory, slaughtering everyone and everything in sight. They proceeded to the Hoard, exterminating the lowly material haulers en masse. They flooded into the indoor pastures and struck down the animals grazing within.
Finally, they dove into the depths of the mines, to find one last, poor, tortured soul whom had fallen into a forlorn depression over the ordeal, and was wandering the tunnels as he slowly wasted away from thirst and hunger - a fish cleaner named Kivish Constructact. Stozu Monstrousislands, a goblin swordsman, charged in and struck him down. His life, and the story of Ginetoltar, thus came to an end.
Better than my last fort. That one was made with 0.34.01. Filled up with vampires, who somehow survived the magma-fueled self-destruct sequence. For the !!SCIENTIFIC!! record: vampires can walk through 2/7 magma without suffering any ill effects, aside from fire-induced nudity. They don't even get an unhappy thought.
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Topic: What's going on in your fort? (Read 6218436 times)