As is tradition it seems, my tenure begins with a truly epic hangover. Many dwarfs find it strange that I get hung over, when no one else seems to, but frankly, I don't think about it any more.
My first task, is to organize the workshops. For now, they'll be below ground. Hopefully we'll be able to move to the surface sometime, but that might require draining the lake and replacing it with magma. For now, I'll go with my traditional layout. Three levels of 5x5's, with corner stairs, and one door wide entrances. This allows any one who is in a mood to be sealed in, should something horribly go wrong.
It also allows for two configurations. Most things will have raw materials on the bottom level, and finished goods on top, with the workshop itself in the middle. The Western end however, will be reserved for Magma Forges, Smelters Kilns and Furnaces. Those will be able to have the forges on the lowest level, raw materials above, and finished goods on top.
We have elves. They arrive as we're working on the workshops. I don't think we have anything for them, and then some one comes racing up to inform me we don't have a trade depot. Umm... oops? I order one built outside. As dangerous as that is, nothing is actively trying to kill us, and so it should reasonably be safe?
Oh, hang on a minute. We have a trade depot. Or rather the plan for one. No one can actually architect. Or perhaps they've died. Sigh. There's also a mangled dog corpse stinking up the place. I assign Nil, one of the masons to architecture, and tell him to get on with it. Meanwhile, Thorayne takes up the job of manager, since she's pretty well suited for it. She also takes over book keeping, since she's the only one that wants it. If I can't hit it with my Pickaxe, I'm not interested and while she's more an organizer I'm certain she'll either get the hang of the counting thing or she'll suffice until someone else arrives who doesn't have to remove their shoes.
A vile mist rolls in. I've ordered the doors left open for the moment, and the bridges down, but the alert has been sent out, and now we're confined inside. If anything bad occurs, we'll lock the doors and close the bridges and hope it goes and eats the elves instead. For the moment they're still milling around while we mason up the trade depot.
Oh sweet Armok, and now migrants. Coming around the lake. Naturally. They get in safely, and the merchants have decided to bug out, so I order the doors locked behind the migrants. There's nothing in sight though, so we leave the bridges down for the moment. I've also ordered up 10 additional slabs, just in case.
Oh for the love of Armok, now we've had a strange mood. And just my luck, a bloody possession. As if the haunted lake weren't enough. I need a drink. Yes, I am aware I have a full mug. No, I do NOT care.
Chief Miner Triaxx, Slate 26 Year of OH Sweet Armok.
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