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[snackfox]

Finished Spring, here is the log


SPRING

I am Snack Bustsnakes. I am a diagnoser, working in the hospital.
Today is the third day of Granite in the year 103 in the fortress of Slaughterhelm, a name adhering to a well-held dwarven naming tradition known as Becortarem, or "tempting fate".

Since 101 ended and Gigmaster stepped down, Slaughterhelm has been in an unusual period without an official overseer. The closest thing we've had has been Max Furnacefancied, an enthusiastic, ambitious stitcher.
Two weeks and two days ago, Max gave a speech on the subject of the adamantine we have found deep underground.
Max spoke of the evil underworld that lies beyond the adamant wall — and he spoke of conquering it. He told the dwarves of Slaughterhelm that purifying Hell would purify our souls as well.

At first, I was mortified — disgusted by the idea. But for these ten days, I have been thinking. Perhaps sanctifying Hell — conquering it in the name of our glorious gods — is what the future holds for the budding colony of Slaughterhelm.

Something I've noticed is that Max, after giving his last speech, has been alarmingly inactive. In the caverns, a section collapsed, killing Solon Zefonkib, a builder.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Yet, Max failed to even carve a memorial stone!
Unfortunately, everyone else believes that he is still a just ruler, so I must take things into my own hands.
It is clear that Max must be succeeded by a real overseer.
This is why I followed Max as he retreated into his room and locked the door, leaving him trapped alone without food or beer.


As of right now I am preparing to make a statement. I plan on announcing to the dwarves of Slaughterhelm that Max has decided to reinstate the overseer system, and that he, humbly choosing another dwarf over himself, has elected me as the new overseer.
I am now to explain this to what will soon be my dwarves...

...The meeting went relatively well, ignoring nearly breaking three limbs and my permanently bruised left eye, and I am now overseer.
I continue to mull on Max's proposal to conquer and live in hell. Perhaps we should try to thin their ranks a little and perhaps expand our military slightly.
Two human warriors visit the pub.

I hope they petition to join — if the military plans on attacking Hell itself, we need all the dwarf-power (or should it be man-power? or dwarf-and-man-power?) we can get, even if it is from pathetic humans.


And one of them chooses to join! Immediately I allow them in. They will most absolutely definitely die first.
I have created another squad consisting of pretty much anyone capable of fighting. I have declared this squad the "Red Shorts", and in our battle against the demons they will bravely go first into the line of battle.

Max the stitcher has been found dead — dehydrated in his room. He was a great man, and it is a shame he is now dead.

In his honor I have claimed his throne, and ordered a small mausoleum. Those miners work fast.

Suddenly, a wereskink appears in the night!

I immediately pull a lever near the entrance, assuming it will shut us in.

It succeeds, and we are protected. The wereskink fucks around on the surface for two or three seconds and knocks over a hive, then immediately becomes a human again.

Soon he wanders off. He had three names, though, so that's probably an indicator that he is  very threatening normally.

Spring draws to an uneventful close...


That wasn't too bad, was it?
Maximum Spin, how do you think you'd like to be re-dorfed?

[Maximum Spin]

Such unimaginable cruelty! Well, you'll be haunted by your crime for eternity, because that throne room is plastered in pictures of me.

I wouldn't mind being reincarnated as a weaponsmith, but maybe my karma is only good enough for a miner to replace the one I cruelly sacrificed. The sacrifice was worth it, though, because I engineered that cave-in (which I totally forgot to mention) to plug up the hole in the lake so the flooded lower levels of Tau spire can be recovered.

[TheFlame52]

I don't care if you guys kill each other, just make sure it leaves a body. I mandate dwarven corpses.

[snackfox]

I accidentally killed the fort. Everyone is dead and on fire. On the bright side, I got into hell.

[TheFlame52]

How convenient that I was checking to see if the EMERGENCY FORT SAVE function worked. How many corpses are there?

EDIT: How dead is the fort, exactly? How many dwarves are left? Is the Voidgod alive?

[snackfox]

There are no dwarves left.

[TheFlame52]

Do you have a backup or something? Are we going to have to reclaim?

[snackfox]

I had a backup, but I saved over it by accident, and I think reclaiming would be very difficult seeing as there are unending armies of demons crawling across the fortress. I may just have to savescum.

[TheFlame52]

If you can get the save to a point where there are any dwarves left at all, pass it to me for an emergency turn. Even if you can't I still want the save so I can reclaim.

[Maximum Spin]

How'd you manage to kill off the Chinchilla? Did you let him out of his box?

Also, I told you we weren't ready. This never would've happened if you hadn't murdered me.

[TheFlame52]

Hey. Fort's not over until I say it is. Got a save with the dead fort at least?

[TheFlame52]

Snackfox, because you didn't post a save to reclaim, you are being skipped. Ryukan, it's your turn.

Also, some eldritch evil from Deathgate I forgot about:
 - The red monster sword, which was almost canonically taken by Terry
 - Bembul, the violent ghost who could not be slabbed
 - The fact that Terry literally ate Deathgate, killing it with bugs and crashes before it could drown in holy magma

[TheImmortalRyukan]

Here I go

[Maximum Spin]

I wish to submit for your consideration the following small side story:
The Diary of Nocam Uncletreaty (Poemhuman)
My name is Nocam Uncletreaty. Fourteen days ago, the spirit of my goddess spoke to me. She said, "Seek thou the scholar Cegad Channelday who waits in Fullclinched to the east!" Unable to argue, I quickly made my preparations and left on the short journey to the nearby town of Fullclinched. Though I had never set foot in town before, it was impossible to miss Fullclinched's Library of Abbeys, where I reasoned that a scholar would most likely be found. I came upon my quarry almost immediately.



And then I was stymied. I realised that my goddess had never told me what to do after finding Cegad. My small talk failed to turn up any obvious leads, only obscure details of a quiescent life; a niece — such as Lecit Hiptender, aptly-named lady of the Fellowship of Hips — here, a cousin — Uram Glittermaster, who in that grand provincial tradition of family trees like fine lace is also his nephew — there. Numbed by the tide of prosaic irrelevance, I wanted to leave, but the goddess' voice in the back of my head urged me to stay and wait out the month. If I had known why, I would have run.

I passed the next few days uneventfully, plying my art in the nearby tavern and making sure to check in on the scholar regularly. Nothing interesting seemed to be happening, and I wondered what my goddess could have meant by sending me here. Then, though, the full moon rose. Amongst my small talk, I had learned that Cegad had recently returned from Slaughterhelm, a dwarven fortress in the outlands known for its scholastic tradition. Indeed, he had even written books there. What neither of us realised was that he had brought something back with him: the curse of the werechinchilla.



Within moments, the crazed beast attacked, taking out his malign fury first on the few friends I had made in town, themselves (like many of the locals) his own beloved cousins. I tried to save them, and my spear proved more effective than their peasants' knives, but, in the end, as an old man I once knew wrote, "I am Cinna the poet! I am not Cinna the conspirator!", and my limited martial ability, combined with my reluctance to fight what I knew would soon wake up again as a harmless human, did not avail me.



Then the creature turned on me. I soon realised that I could not hold. The only saving grace was that the bloodlust of the werechinchilla replaced, and did not augment, the intellect of the scholar, so it had no mind for strategy. Putting that advantage to use, I dodged the monster's charge, and ran while its back was turned. I ran all the way across town and hid in the tavern until sunrise. In the light of the sun, though, when my fear had faded, I came to understand that my flight had been futile.


I know, as any child knows, the lore of the werebeast. Its curse is passed through its bite. I am now a danger to all those around me. I passed Cegad in the street today; he lies naked and confused in the blood of his family, but, when I tried to explain what he is, he didn't believe me. I should kill him, to spare others, but it is not in me. (The scholars do not understand that anything is amiss, even as I sit and write amongst them, bloodied and grim.) I can still hear my goddess in my head, cackling hideously. I wish I had had the sense to change religions. There's nothing to do about it now; when I have finished writing my story, I shall go down to the seaside. I will not allow myself to become like Cegad.

[TheImmortalRyukan]

Go check out blossomtowers for some light on what df is doing to my soul