firing up the save again.
We're very low on booze and somehow we have no barrels left. I'm hoping that processing the pig tails laying around will free up a couple while I have the carpenter make a few. Failing that, the caravan should be here soon, and with it sweet, sweet booze.
New season, same problems.
I don't really know what to do with the ones we've captured. Surely someone can train them, but I'm tempted to sacrifice them to the mountain.
Our two militiadwarves finally had a sparring match, though one of them was clumsy enough to draw blood. I guess the "Mistress" didn't realize that it was unnecessary to stand in the fortress entrance for an entire season.
The caravan finally arrives, hopefully they've got an anvil. I forgot to mention earlier, another metalsmith withdrew from society but smelting is slow since the people bloody responsible keep going insane.
Let's also hope they don't get brutally murdered by unicorns.
I'm starting to think caravans are cursed. They always arrive as soon as the cave river floods, not that the flood does much more than muddy the floors.
Aaaand all they brought was meat and a little cloth. Thanks, yeah, super helpful. Fantastic.
That unicorn we caught a while ago was giving me the most murderous look. . .
That magma river is starting to look awfully tempting.
Despite the best efforts of booze deprivation, unicorn maulings, and an overly curious alligator, we finally finished the road.
Hopefully next year's trading will be more profitable.
Dude, maybe you should settle for what we have to work with instead of yelling for a magma forge.
Other than that, the month was fairly uneventful. I mostly just yell at people to do their jobs instead of hauling rocks everywhere.
And immediately upon me writing that. . .
And they're right in the path of the merchants leaving. I hope the mountainhome understands when the caravan doesn't come back. I can't watch...
There's a dead guard over there, got perforated.
Just after the caravan escapes, some migrants step over the guard's corpse.
Which is good because we just lost another dwarf to the unicorns.
The remainder of autumn, thankfully, passes uneventfully. Project FUCKUNICORNS has been designed in entirety and dug out for most of its length. I will leave instructions on how to operate it on the end of this journal.
A hunter finally brought in that alligator. Sad that we couldn't lure it into a trap somehow, but hey, more meat.
That metalsmith with the ironic name finally starved. I guess gibbering madly does require some sort of energy. In his memory, however, I've also begun work on a smaller project.
Once this is finished, it should resolve the problems of both wood shortage and metalsmith shortage. (You picky fucks.)
Rejoice!
The dry spell ends! This should kick productivity back into gear.
Evidently the smell of booze attracted the kobolds. Two of them showed up and were scared off by the dogs, though they've yet to actually kill or be killed by them.
Midwinter rolls around and the farm plots dry up. More unicorns chase people around but no one's dead yet. FUCKUNICORNS is getting closer to completion every week, though I fear the next overseer may have to complete it.
The smiths are now telling me that magma forges require flowing magma. I am telling them that this is unreasonable. They are telling me that you cannot reason with the laws of physics. I would beg to differ but that would be rather meta.
Other than that, nothing much happens over the last part of winter other than the usual random unicorn maulings, though no one has died yet. However, I believe that soon - maybe not within the small remaining portion of my stint as overseer, but soon - our unicorn troubles will be over.
We lose another to the horned devils.
But I'll show them. I'll show them ALL.
We also celebrated the King of Monkeys's twelfth birthday. Now he can actually be useful.
I kind of wonder what visitors think when they see the entrance.
"Welcome to Boarpaints! Oh, no, ignore the gory mess all over the gate, it's perfectly safe here with zero chance of unicorn-assisted forcible ventilation or gibbering insanity."
SIGH
IT WORKS!
(Imagine this with magma instead of tentacles, and unicorns instead of Servants.)...or a metalsmith.
Sorry, mate. You probably should have listened when I told everyone to get inside.
OH FUCKABORT ABORT ABORT
WHY DID THE FRONT GATE MELT
FUCKFUCKFUCK
AND AFTER ALL THIS
THEY'RE STILL FUCKING ALIVE
save is here