My name is Angular Momentum Shovemachines. I am a farmer by training, though I have been ordered, for some reason, to take employment as a minter of coins. I have no party. I do not especially wish to lead. Yet, this year, no candidates have come forward for election. I have drawn the short pig tail. Therefore, I am now the overseer of Goldsilver.
I am immediately handed a stack of paperwork. Residency requests, for a human poet and a couple of performer troupes. All accepted. The poet actually wants to become a citizen and therefore a worker here - and we need all the hands we can get. I admit I'm not totally sure what has happened here, but there seem to be quite a lot of missing people and a big section of the lower fortress is walled off.
A large group of dwarves bristling with weapons have been making their way toward the south wall. We all assumed they were migrants until they were close enough to be heard shouting viciously in the goblin tongue. I ordered all hands inside and the gates closed; this isn't the time to take risks. As usual, none of the crazed human religious men who wander outside our walls react to our shouts or the sealing of the gate in front of them; their sacrifice will... probably not be remembered, if I'm being honest.
I didn't know that the old tunnel that everyone calls the were-lizard prison (I assume this is some kind of in-joke) had been left open, and the enemy came swarming into it. Someone eventually found the lever and closed off our side, mercifully. Screaming in goblin can occasionally be heard through the bridge - maybe the rumor that that old hallway was full of traps is true?
(Unrelatedly, about this time I realised there are
both Horned Monsters and Hornet Monsters among the demons that I don't know about in-character yet. For a moment I thought I'd been misreading the reports all along...)
The wall spotters reported seeing a whole bunch of dwarves and goblins boiling up out of the hatch to the tunnel in a hurry. Quite a bit fewer than went in. Maybe they'll leave soon. A visiting scholar trapped outside was butchered around the same time, and almost immediately, another one showed up. Why are visitors always so stupid? Is there something wrong with the rest of the world? Or is there something wrong with us and we can't tell?
I suddenly had a brainwave. That trapped hallway seems to have done more damage to those soldiers than anything else we have at our disposal. I order the bridge dropped again in the hopes of luring them back through it. Of course, I don't know if they'll be dumb enough to try it twice. But... everyone else seems to be.
Success! Well, partial. After milling around uncertainly, first one, then three enemy dwarves cautiously slipped into the tunnel - after which a whole mess of them went charging in to prove their bravery. The partial failure was this: before any of them even reached the hallway proper, one of the few human zealots who bothered to come inside barrelled down into the passageway, screaming that "Zitha" had spoken to her and "Zitha" was displeased. If "Zitha" is the name of her god, I suppose they will likely have met by now. Perhaps the god wanted to expound upon its displeasure in person.
Never mind. Spotters say the human came up out of the tunnel and through a knot of goblins and dwarves unharmed, running off to join her compatriots outside the walls. I suppose, since they are not our citizens, even the hated enemy will not rid us of these pests. On the bright side, the screaming echoing in from the "werelizard prison" has been virtually continuous. It amuses me. What's going to be really hilarious is if any of them finally get through it, and then the bridge shuts in their faces... and they realise they have go
back.
The enemy are running away. How... disappointing. I think I will have a drawbridge put up at the other end to prevent them from leaving next time.
This is not all that has been going on in Goldsilver. While all this happened outside, I have ordered a long stairway sunk through a carefully plotted route far from the now-sealed cavern passages. The cavern explorers long ago described a second pillar of adamantine to the northwest of the one that my predecessors worked. I hope to regain access to the metal and the magma sea by the end of the year. The other dwarves tell silly rumours that the sealed area was invaded by a horde of demons that burst forth from the old mine and killed everyone they met. How absurd. If they killed everyone they met, how could we possibly know they were there? I imagine what really happened is that some of those ancient monsters from the caverns broke through the perimeter and slaughtered enough dwarves to start the panic. I'm certainly not going to tear down those walls just yet, as there could well really be something strong behind them, but the whole idea of demons is laughable.
Migrants! Real ones this time! Eleven of them, some even useful, plus a bird. I can't help but notice that there doesn't seem to be all that much work getting done. Asking around, I find out that Goldsilver's last manager was among the dead currently not-exactly-entombed in the deep fortress, and all the work orders some previous overseer must have painstakingly set up to ensure the indefinite smooth running of the fortress
cough had disgracefully been cancelled. Reviewing a shortlist of suitable candidates compiled by a subordinate, I decide to appoint LadyBrassroast, one of our accomplished (which is to say, surviving) military personnel, to the position of Bureaucrat, and fill in the vacant positions of Salesdwarf and Stonecounter as well. After searching for anyone old enough to remember the work orders that had been in place, I was eventually able to get something workable set up, and I set off to deliver the paperwork to LadyBrassroast... only to find her in the hospital, scarcely expected to survive. Embarrassed, I arrange for Lurker to take on the responsibility as her deputy, but allow her to keep the Bureaucrat title to save face.
A clothier died of having his head kicked in by the horse he had just finished gelding. For some reason this speaks to me on a deep spiritual level. The surface is once again plagued by giant lice and birds, but my thoughts are with the depths. According to the maps I have been perusing, I believe it should be possible to secure the magma smelting level and all the resources still kept there with minimal loss of life. However, it may be incredibly dangerous if the rumours of terrible beasts hiding behind the walls have any truth. I shall find a suitable volunteer for the job.
The undertaking appears to have been a complete success! Bomrek the miner now occupies the lowest level of the fortress, having walled it off from the ascending stairway from below by means of a secondary tunnel which was sealed behind him as well. He has been ordered to wait several days (there are ample supplies stored there for the forge workers of times past) to ensure he is not attacked through some unknown opening, then reopen his own entry passage and rejoin us to the depths.
Bah, another horde of goblins as summer breaks and I am distracted celebrating my success. Up goes the wall, and this time I leave the trap tunnel open for now. Let's see how well this thing works.
The utterly consarned human merchants have arrived while I was totally distracted listening to trolls howling in agony. I quickly order everyone to throw together some semblance of a trading stock while the new Salesdwarf prepares for his first mission. Or was that her first mission? I don't think I ever checked.
Some kind of "gilded representative" pigeonholes me in the entryway and starts asking me what I want the humans to bring next year. I realize that I have no clue. At a loss, I suddenly remember stories I'd heard in the tavern about some daring visionary who dreamed of capping the whole of Goldsilver with a starry dome of glass and gems. Obviously, the whole idea is insane, but... somehow, I felt moved. I demanded the humans bring me gems, glass, and sand by the bucketful. I only hope whoever is in charge next year has the vision to use it.
The human responds with his people's own needs, which they promise to reward us for meeting. Crowns, cooked food, and ash top the list, followed by crossbows, plants, splints, amulets, and powders of all sorts, with fish, bracelets, and crutches bringing up the rear at only token prices. I do not begin to speculate what bizarre crisis has befallen the human nation to cause this request.
In any case, the Salesdwarf acquires some materials of value in exchange for a large pile of trash, as is tradition. With all this work accomplished (by other people), I decide to settle in for a nap.
So that was like 5/12 of the year, I guess. Things are going fine. Need a break for now. More later.