7 dwarves found a hellish ice encased haunted wasteland covered in abominable goo and filth wonderful embark spot and burrowed beneath the ice. They got their 3 logs, anvil and yaks into a frozen room carved from the ice itself before realizing that perhaps they could have brought some... booze?
The miners said not to fear (miners being incapable of fear because of what they do for a living, natch). They would find water and plants to eat in the caverns.
Just before everyone died of thirst and hunger, 114 levels down, the caverns were breached. Water! Everyone piled up at the life-giving fluid, crouching to drink in the rough hole that had been hollowed out onto the Deep Sea. The animals having been duly slaughtered and the scary bits swiftly disposed of - you never know when things might leap back to life in areas with this weird weather, you know? - food was no longer an immediate worry. A section of the cavern which was safely roofed and floored was walled off, and some cave wheat, pig tails and plump helmets were harvested to provide seed stock. Seeds were planted. Things were looking up! Even the dour miner Melbil was noticed to be whistling as he chiseled away at some new stairs.
Somewhere above the constant clouds, summer arrived. Not that it mattered, here in the deep Southern wastes. Plans were put in motion for a trade depot, channeling out a path through the five level thick omnipresent goo-covered ice and leading to a room below. Migrants even arrived, Armok knows from where, bringing the total number of dwarves up to 15! This embarking business wasn't proving to be nearly as difficult as old Asem made it sound, back in Channeledgrooves!
The first sign that things weren't going well was the troll. The sounds of grunting and hooting came from the darkness; everyone knew that sound. Somewhere deep in the dwarven blood, that sound was engraved under the word "Trouble". The door that led to the outer caverns was destroyed. It broke the mason's workshop, scattering stone blocks everywhere... then the carpenter's workshop, throwing the wooden training axe aside and smashing the tools and benches. By the time it destroyed the field full of plump helmet spawn, everyone knew that things were looking grim. Then, without any warning, the troll ambled back out into the caverns.
Ezum acted quickly. He might only be a mason, but he acted with the speed and decisiveness of a general. No sooner had the troll gone, than he had sealed up the breach with a sturdy stone block wall. We all heard it return, snuffling and grunting along the new wall, but it couldn't get back in. We had a little liquor, a few more mushrooms; we could rebuild. The loss of the field was damaging but not deadly. We would endure.
... then the bat came.
Spitequick the giant bat. Winging in from the darkness, talons raking poor Ezum as he drank... he didn't stand a chance. Before we knew what happened, Melbil was dead as well, his neck snapped. One by one, my brothers fell. One by one, torches were extinguished in the darkness. Soon I fear it will come for me. If anyone finds this record, know that we tried. If you are from Channeledgrooves, tell Asem he was right; we died from not believing. We were not prepared.
I hear wings. He comes.
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Topic: What's going on in your fort? (Read 6221832 times)