Spring. The time for revival.
Icicles melted into puddles and snow drifts tumbled down in chunks as the desert basked in the light of a fledgling sun. Plants, sealed in ice months ago, began their exploratory forays into the overground once more. As did the animals, who emerged from their winter caves with nary a thought but food on their minds. With life abounding all around it, the Tower too awoke.
Slowly, but surely, it arose from its deep slumber. It shook off the remains of snow and debris of seasons past, hanging from its greatest of megaprojects to its smallest of alcoves. And as the Tower swayed into life, so too did its inhabitants.
The dance of dwarves rose from a murmur to a buzz, and from that buzz it rose into a chatter. From there, it became a throng – chaotic, unpredictable, noisy – the embodiment of the relentless madness and spirit that had seized the site from the moment its founders laid foot on the gravel. An A-OK to the universe at large that the heart of Constructivory was pumping and alive.
Cheesemakers toiled above the heavens in their sacred wheel…
Dwarves paid their respects to the dead souls of the Ghost Maze…
The Lord High Judge Ryukan slumbered in his Golden Temple…
McBarsky mixed drinks for his Skybar patrons…
Paddle steps into the bowels of her greatest creation...
Heretic spars with relish against endlessblaze and chaotic skies atop the Mark of Chaos…
MobRules stood in quiet contemplation within the Hall of Rainbows…
King Japa poked his beard into the old queen's tomb...
The traders milled about the blood-soaked trade depot after ascending the green glass ramp…
Goblin spy Dak schemed desperately from her secret hideout in the hills…
Lord Brassroast hummed as he tinkered with the magma pumpstack, clockwork mechanisms clicking and whirring along beneath his fingers…
PyroTechno and Urist McDwarf basked in the heat of the forges…
Escondida and uber pye effortlessly shapes wood and stone to their will...
Mayor cum dwarf therapist Ducim sits patiently through the depressed yelling of her patients...
Taupe and Gwolfski slum it out in their ramshackle joint office located within the old clay levels...
Immortal-D and his carousers partied the night away at the Casa de Pallo, accompanied by the very best in blackjack and hookers…
(well, one out of two ain't bad)Illithid Muteletter the Contained Depression of Counselling poked the floor morosely with a stick...
Commander Shipcat keeps watch at the new guard tower, eyes scanning the horizon as she stroked the dozing Master Fluffykins on her lap…
Dwarven children skated in joy at the Towercat ice rink, blissfully unaware of the Giant Chicken crapping above their heads…
Others dipped their feet into the sub-zero waters at the tower’s base…
Sanju stared at the four walls of her private tower, as she had done for the past sixteen years.
Constructivory has stood tall for nearly two decades against goblin sieges, anti-towerists, vigilante werebeasts, rogue minecarts, religious cults, fluffy scheming kittens, dairy worshippers, mysterious murders, mad architects, communist revolutionaries, military juntas and most of all, gravity. Through all that, Constructivory endures.
For now, things were idle. There was a rhythm to the rise and falls of the tower’s builds; the dance of Constructivory so to speak. From the initial cuttings of stone, the hectic shuttling of materials in situ, the terror of the build itself, and to the deep lull in-between projects. The tower was in one of those lulls, where time itself seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions – more than enough time for the dwarves to drink, laugh and cry their sorrows away.
Perhaps they’ve earned the right to be content. Perhaps this is their Valhalla, the eternal lull between builds, where the drink is plentiful, the parties wild and the buildings unrivalled in design. These times of spring, when they were the happiest dwarves in the world.
No.
Fuck no.
THIS.
IS.
DWARF FORTRESS.
The earth rumbled.