Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[PresidentEvil]

Actually, I moved it onto the first post.

[Kylaer]

Alright, update's done.

Outpost Onolisden, 1st Granite, in the year of 1053.

In the year of my reign.

It was not a responsibility I expected. It was not a burden I asked for. Yet it is mine now, and I shall carry it; I will do my best for our people.

Our position is strong; the icy land outside the mountain provides no comfort to us, but it is no more hospitable to our enemies. While the threat of an attack from beyond cannot be dismissed, it is not the highest of priorities.

More important is to simply improve what we have. I order the fields flooded, that we may immediately start farming. I order additonal bridges constructed, to prevent mass drownings; the furnace-operators are set to their tasks, to build towards our success.

The world outside lacks trees, but we have need of wood. We must grow it ourselves; I plan the construction of a vast tree-farm, and send the miners to work. The fort bustles with activity, and I go with it, keeping my eye on everything, making sure it goes well. These are good days.

The river floods; even though my safety bridges are not yet complete, we are lucky, and none are washed away.

Our work progresses. The secondary bridge over the river, located far away and safely disconnected from the primary bridge, will lead to the beginnings of our new tree farm.

We have come to late in the springtime. Our farms are productive, the farmers producing many plump helmets. The metalcrafting has gone on as intended, and the laborious road across the ice is being constructed. Hopefully it can be completed before the humans arrive with their trade-wagons.

A runner finds me as I am surveying the farming plots. He comes with news, most important news:

Truly wondrous news, in fact! A whole host of immigrants have come to strengthen our numbers and aid us in constructing our city, and we welcome them.

[Kylaer]

But this is a guest we do not welcome at all:

The beast leaps from the chasm and flings itself onto a hapless kitten. Tosid Limulalath is nearby with his axe; without hesitation, he flings himself into combat with the monster.

Even before he can arrive, the kitten fights with everything it has, latching onto the batman's hand and tearing it fiercely.

The batman howls in rage and strikes out wildly, shocked that such a small thing could hurt him. Then Tosid joins the fray, striking the batman hard enough to send its body flying against the wall. This flight is the creature's last, and it bounces off the wall to slump to the floor, dead. Thus always to our enemies.

Now, back to our work - what was that?

Another beast, this one from the cave river, no sooner than the first had been dispatched!

But this one was a fool. It didn't try to snatch a weak kitten, nor even a peasant. It attacked one of our greatest citizens, Stodir Idenlokum, our legendary miner. If it had had a brain, it might have known better.

With the attacks behind us, things seem to quiet down a bit. But work remains to be done, a lot of it; with the new arrivals, we need living space even more, and living in the barracks is becoming extremely trying, so I set up the construction of some private quarters. The nobles shall have their own rooms as well, full suites of them.

[Kylaer]

Summer arrives. The road construction is underway, the food supply is looking good, construction goes well in all aspects; we can now count ourselves as a village, not merely an outpost.

When I took this job, I feared that I might not prove sufficient to the task. Yet it seems to be less difficult than I feared; it's a lot of work, supervising, making sure everything goes just right, but it seems...managable.

Alas, the road was not done in time to receive the human caravan. The hardy traders with their mules came onward across the ice, but the wagons could not cross.

This sneaking little kobold could cross the ice, however. Unfortunately for it, it decided to sneak into a fort guarded by a squad of marksdwarves with crossbows at the ready. A bolt from Iden Ingishlogem pierces the creature's chest, spilling red blood across the blue ice, and it dies where it stood. A second follows it, and similarly dies in a hail of bolts. The ice beside the trade depot runs red.

A peasant sent to work on the road comes back with news of a terrible creature lurking on the ice, a great beast with claws, fangs, and fur as white as the snow. This is unacceptable. The marksdwarf squad is ordered to hunt down and slay this beast.

The beast forces my hand! It chases a builder towards the trade depot, even before the marksdwarves can hunt it down; the bolts fly, finding their marks

By the gods, this beast is tough! With bolts plunged to their fletching in its leg, it still charges after its prey. Thanks to the skill of Morul Olinod, it is brought down before it causes any harm.

[Kylaer]

I bargain with the humans, eventually making a deal to take their food in exchange for our stone crafts, plus a finely-made pickaxe. A fair trade, in my view. They leave, claiming they will return next year with even more goods to trade.

"Kylaer! Come quick, something's happened to Melbil!"
I hurry, following the runner. By the time I arrive, Melbil is in the process of hauling a log of wood towards our carpenter's workshop. I follow him, trying to interrupt his work, but to no avail. He doesn't hear my words. After dragging the log into the shop, he proceeds to stand and stare around him, muttering a strange name and claiming he needs more wood.

Unfortunately, we have no more wood. Tower-cap saplings are growing, but they won't be ready for harvest for years, and I have a suspicion that Melbil will not last that long. A sad day, indeed.

Autumn arrives. can the year truly be half over already?

As I am overseeing the construction of a new design, a messenger approaches. I can see the grief in her face even before she speaks.
"What's happened?"
"The river, sir...it took Stodir."

My heart sank. Stodir, one of our two greatest miners, slayer of the cave crocodile, swept away by the river. Truly a grim day for all of us.

I felt somewhat better after hearing the news of the arrival of the year's dwarf caravan. But my happiness was shortlived, as another runner came bearing yet more ill news.

[Kylaer]

"Get t' the workshops, Melbil's gone insane!"

I didn't hesitate; I took off running as fast as I could. By the time I arrived, the beserk carpenter had assaulted Rigoth Urdimosor, beating him painfully before being struck unconscious.

"What should I do, sir?" Rigoth asked me. Melbil was down and bleeding badly; all we had to do was leave him alone for a few moments and he would die before our eyes.

The decision was a heavy one. I hate to see one of our dwarves lost. It means I've failed in my duty. But I have heard of madness like the kind that took Melbil, and from that, there is no recovering.

"Stay your hand."

I'm sorry, Melbil. I should have been a better ruler. I should have helped you before it was too late. I did not sleep well that night.

Is there no respite? Is there no pause from the onslaught of forces that attempt to tear the fortress apart? Another monstrous crocodile slithers from the water to attack one of our miners. Stukos brings it down with his pickaxe, but not without sustaining a nasty bite on the arm in the process. Hopefully it will not be his death. Thankfully, after only a brief recuperation period, he is back to work with no signs of trouble.

That night, my sleep was by a strange dream. I dreamed of a construction that could take the body of a mortally-wounded dwarf and restore it to life; when I woke, the design was still clear in my mind.

I knew what I had to do. I had to build the machine. The pieces needed still burned clearly in my mind, and I set the metalsmiths, masons, and mechanics to the task. No more will die under my care.

The farms have produced bumper crops of plump helmets; I order many of them to be brewed into wine, to keep my people happy. But that is only of secondary concern; my true goal is to keep them alive, so I devote full effort to the construction of the machine.

As I was overseeing the job, I received word of yet another dwarf becoming crazed with an idea. I knew the feeling; it mirrored my own.

Dastot ran to a crafts shop and collected three stacks of bones, then began calling for blocks. Not wanting him to fail in his dream project, I ordered some blocks made at the mason's, and he soon produced an impressive, although strange, artifact:

[Kylaer]

Now things are going well. The machine is almost done, the tree-farming area is large and equipped with a floodgate system to water the areas out of reach of the river's natural floods, my people are prosperous and happy. As my reign nears the one-year mark, I believe I have accomplished a great deal.

Wait. What's that rumbling sound?

Oh no. The tree farm! The miners didn't leave the roof supported well enough!

I sprint towards the farm, bringing workers along with me. "Quickly," I order, "support columns, here, here, and he-"

No!

Darkness.

...

...

...

I can feel my bones grating inside my flesh. Broken bones, broken body, broken life. Broken fortress...?

Something's moving. I'm moving. Hands, many hands, carrying me carefully. My people live.

"You'll be alright," I hear someone say. One of the miners, I recognize her voice. "Looks like you'll be the first to use that new machine you put so much effort into."

The machine. Oh, gods, the machine isn't done. Close, so close, but still not complete to the point where it could restore life.

The best it can do is hold off death.

I hear the smooth sliding noise as the machine's lid is opened, feel the chill of the metal as they lay me down inside it. The lid closes with finality.

I live. Perhaps forever, if this can be called life.  

Someone else must carry on. I can go no further.

OOC:

Ran out of time right at the end. I was working on clearing all the rubble out of my tomb/resurrection machine, and it took longer than I'd thought. The tomb itself isn't quite complete; everything's queued, but not everything is placed. Hopefully it should all finish itself within the next in-game week or two.

Accomplishments: Road, tree farm, lots of bins and barrels made of metal, some living space dug out but no beds to make rooms. Added more food and alcohol to the stocks, brought in another ~20-odd dwarves, lost three (Stodir, Melbil, and a peasant I named after myself). Nothing really great or artistic, unfortunately.

[PresidentEvil]

Stodir, no!

We'll miss you, buddy... at least I will.

[short_dwarf]

I must say that you are probably the only none dictator of all the DF succession games so far. probably the only one there will ever be too  

[Gaulgath]

Yeah, I think we should try to keep this rather serious. I mean, you could have a dwarf ruler who is a total nutjob, but he shouldn't just send half the population to wrestle elephants.

Anyway, I'm ready for me save!

[Kylaer]

...I guess it'd be good if I uploaded the save. My bad.

Here it is, sorry.

[Tarrasque]

Oy! Lad, ye callin ole Tarr a Dicatator?! I did what wuz needed for the Fortress an Nothin' less. Hehe, but, that was an interesting update Kylear. Good to see you got the road constructed and I will be interested to see what the next up does.

[short_dwarf]

eh... i would say a dictorial leader with good views that the current dwarves liked.   :p

[Gaulgath]

With th' death of our most brave leader, Kylaer, the Council has decided ta put me, Gaul Olinod, Commander of th' brave Marksdwarves squad, in charge of fertress operations. It's sure as hell isn't a duty I'll be takin' lightly wit' all the lives in my hands.

My first order is ta make some beds fer the civilians. Th' barracks is fer us brave soldiers!

I also decide we some farm plots down so we cannae feed ourselves. Wait, a messenger approaches!

He brings grave news: while working on our tree farm, a metalsmith slipped an' fell inta the cracks around th' waterfall during the cave flood! My first week as ruler, and already I've lost one! We need ta prevent this from ever happenin' again, ye hear? Place bridges over that hellhole!

Hey, where in nine hells are those beds I ordered! Damn! All me carpenters are a' gettin' drunk 'er sleepin'! Bastards! This sorta thing angers me ta no end, let me tell ye! At least me farmers are a' plantin' seeds, right? Wait, wha?! Only two plump helmets planted! Bastards! They're all getting drunk off ale, probably!  And what are those dog corpses doin' there? Do you all want to get sick?! Clean 'em up! Now! Yes messenger? Wha' is it now?

Elves? Elves?! In MY fort? Hah! Those tree-huggin', dirt-eatin, wooden sword-wielding bastards can go straight to hell fer all I give a damn!

Hope ye don't get frostbite, ye bastards! Meanwhile the captain of the guard here is pesterin' me about buildin' a jail. I order a new room to be dug to complete this order. It's fer the best. Don't want her jumpin' dwarves who don't meet mandates an beatin' them ta death!

The elves continue to approach, even through this blizzard. They're persistent. I'll give 'em that. Alright, yes the trade depot is right there. Yea, just put yer cloth and... bloated tubers? Is that it? Ye tryin' ta waste me time here? All right, let's "trade".

Ethical works, huh? Ye' an art critic now, are ye? We dwarves don't like our less "ethical" works critisized! Squad, take everythin' they have! Hah! Let 'em walk back to their forests in disgrace because they can't even defend their own trade goods!

[Gaulgath]

24th Granite, 1054, Early Spring

Wit' ta elves outta tha way, I decide to check out our smelters an' such... woah! Ach, no thanks, I can pick meself up! Ugh, look at all these bars! No wonder I tripped! Alright, you, smith! Turn these into something usefull! I don't know! How about some bronze weapons and armor fer the troops? Yep, tha' should do!
     

Alright, this here big room is ready fer flooding! It's a tree farm? Wha? Whatever, just pull the lever!
     

Ah, looks like a few cats were in th' room when we flooded it. Ach, no matter. We must continue with our plans! Ah, greetings messenger! Migrants ye say? Nobles? House Fer, Ber, the Mayor, and Broker? But... we don't even have beds fer the current ones! Armok be damned!
   

26th Slate, Mid-Spring

Alright mayor, what do ye want? Gems? Well I'm sure we can... wait, large gems?! How in nine hells do you want me to go about that? Leave me!

[ August 22, 2007: Message edited by: Gaulgath ]

[ August 22, 2007: Message edited by: Gaulgath ]

[ August 22, 2007: Message edited by: Gaulgath ]