Well if there's going to be a furnace operator in the near future, I'll go with that, but if not then the metalsmith.
Probably not, since this is pretty much the last update (for this fortress).
From the Journal of vjmdhzgr:
When I first came I here, I knew. I
knew. And now what remains of my life are a few words scratched between trade documents. Certain death approaches, and there is no way out. In the end, what destroyed us were our own machinations: the drop chute that was dug to the furnaces and smelters. Of course this godsforsaken land is not without blame either.
Let this serve as a record to those who see it, of the dangers of avarice and its terrible cost. Would I have never come here! Would I have stayed in the mead halls of my fathers, and been warm and been at peace. Yes, it was a quiet life and one without fortune. But a life all the same. Better by far, than death.
Things were going well. We were producing iron goods in a steady stream. Food and accommodations were made for us (myself and the other slack-jawed country fool). We were given beds (rare in this place) and told to keep to the smelters. Then it came. A Jabberer. A denizen of the depths. It struck two of us down before we knew what to do, both fell into the mine shaft trying to move away from the beast. Their remains...I shudder to think of it. A heap of broken body parts, drowned in blood.
Olon rallied the dwarves, they faced the beast and slayed it. But of course, the real danger here comes not from the living, but from the dead. They are all dead now. All of them. Yet still they walk. I can hear them now. I have hidden myself, but...yes...they can smell me.
They come! They come! Nekol save me!
[The rest is illegible and covered in gore]
-----------------------------------------------------
And so ends the (rather short) tale of Nazushinod.
I guess I'll try again in an easier biome.