My current fortress, Lancewind, is set upon the treeless coast of a shining lake. I don't use wood for much, so that's okay, except for one thing- we are in dire need of beds. So when the caravan came this past year, carrying the precious wood we ordered, the entire fortress breathed a sigh of relief. Soon, all the dwarves would have comfortable places to rest their bearded heads. When suddenly...
An ambush! Curse them!Alright, I thought,
we can handle this. I ordered the militia out to meet them in the field- hopefully they wouldn't do too much damage to the caravan in the meantime. We need that wood! And then-
An ambush! Curse them!Well, fuck. One ambush would be a struggle, two is a crisis. If it weren't for the caravan, I would just raise the drawbridge and station the marksdwarves out to take potshots at them, but we
really need that wood and I can't afford to have the merchants flee the map. It's time to rally the men and see what they're made of. Our seasoned commander, 'Maria' Landarfath, leads the charge:
"For the dwarves! For the king! For a good night's sleep!"But as brazen as she is, I am not an experienced strategist. The militia does not crash into the goblins as a unified squad- they trickle in one or two at a time. The marksdwarves are too far away to provide support. In my haste to save the caravan, I neglected the careful planning that must come before battle.
At first, it seems that will not matter. The goblins were expecting a slow, vulnerable caravan, not an offensive force, and we take them by surprise. But quickly, it becomes apparent that our mix-and-match armor is poorly-matched against the slicing power of their whips. A baby is the first to fall, then its speardwarf mother. A dwarf is driven to the ground by two goblins' onslaught. His comrade steps in to protect him, but it's too late. Both of them are cut down. 'Maria' Landarfath is thrown to the ground, life fading from her eyes. I begin preparations to raise the drawbridge to doom the militia and save the fortress. But then, a glimmer of hope- 'Ali' Lishadil, Swordsdwarf joins the fray.
An artist with the blade, she makes a singlehanded push against the goblins, and the hill runs with their blood. Slowly, we are gaining ground! The rest of the militia, two knife users and three macedwarves, arrive at once. The caravan guard finds their feet and joins the assault from the opposite side. And unbelievably, dust settles around a dwarven victory. Lancewind is safe. A happy ending to the story, or so it seems.
But this isn't a story. This is Dwarf Fortress. And in Dwarf Fortress, the heroes of the field lead lives of veneration... and lives of brevity.
The dust settles around a dwarven victory, but 'Ali' Lishadil is dead. A noble sacrifice made by a noble dwarf. Her name, and the names of the other fallen, will be spoken in prayer by every protector of Lancewind. And the life of the fortress will go on without them.
The goods of the dead merchants are collected and brought inside, and the Lancewinders begin the long work of cleaning corpses from the hill. A new commander is promoted from the veterans, and green soldiers are issued red weapons. Lancewind perseveres. And along the coast, a new batch of headstones is added to the rest.
Here lies 'Ali' Lishadil the Sandaled Justices of Lightning,
Defender of Lancewind,
Ardent Worshipper of Moldath Minedsand.
In heaven, there are beds enough for all.
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Topic: What's going on in your fort? (Read 6214512 times)