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[IronValley]

No problem with waiting a bit.
Reading this story so far has been a lot of fun, hopefully my Dwarf will be able to survive a few seasons  

Btw, is it just me, or are Champions better sparring partners than clean recruits? In my current fort dwarfs become champions really really fast. Capped immigration at 150, and I'm currently sitting at 43 champions, and during the last 5 years, I've had two new recruits get permanent injuries.

[Stravitch]

Much like all professional wrestlers, Champions know how to pull their punchs and stomp the ground with each blow!

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 21st of Hematite, 1061

"Johnny, friend, we can't buy these trinkets from you."
"Wha'?  The feck ya'talkin' 'bout?  Ya'never'ad a pro'lem befa'r now!"

Rosycats shrugged his shoulders expansively.  Behind him, Guildstern toyed with a gold coin, trying to stay out of the conversation.  "Aryn told me that," he swallowed hard.  "Told me that he knows about your 'cute smuggling schemes'.  He says if we buy anything from you and he finds out, that we're cut off.  That we need him more than the other way, and-"
"And he'd be right," Guildstern interjected sullenly.  "We do need him.  Our largest profits come from here; you Dwarves may see nothing but wastes and death, but we-"
"We see a land plated in gold," finished Rosycats.  "As long as we can get past those monstrosities in the wastes, we're guaranteed a kings bounty.  Did you know we broke an axle last year, hauling back all your goods?  We won't risk that just because you talk smooth and offer a few backwoods idols and jewelery."

"Fine.  Fine!.  Dunae be expectin' any help from me, o'our boys than.  Stravitch won't be happy t'ear bout' yer decision."
"Help?  Help with what!" Jeered one of the pair.
"Wi'the goblins that have been sneakin' up the path," Johnny said severely.  "I'm goin' inside ta'get a drink.  Maybe fifteen minutes ah'll send Stravitch up t'help.  Keep that in mind the next time ya' say you won' be purchsin' any'a my crafts"

Rosycats and Guildstern turned quickly, eyes widening in horror.  The setting sun had gazed an angry red glare across the land, and shielding their eyes, they could make out the slim shapes creeping across the wastes.  With a cry they dove into the relative safety of their wagons, the guards rushing out to fight; and though many of the humans were left crippled or dead, the swordsmen were rebuffed... and Johnny's point driven painfully home.

***

"I'm quite sorry, dear chaps," the administrator screamed over her shoulder.  "I have, ahh, just, quite the most important meeting!"

Behind her, the goblins gnashed their tusks and followed in hot pursuit - though their chase was swiftly cut off by Sulari, and her axe.

***

OOC: The absurdity of that Administrator "conducting a meeting" instead of "running away" was too good to pass up.

[Heavy Flak]

From the journal of Johnny Fountainspring
6th of Malachite, 1061

After what seemed like years of nothing but sieges, the greenskins are trying subtlety once more.  Their last attack came in two small waves of Gobbo Commandos, their skin caked with mud and sand, their weapons smeared with tar to hide the shine - it was luck alone that I spotted the swordsmen, and hopefully Rosycats and Guildstern will have learned their lesson now that three of their guard are dead and two have crippled arms.  

They've also been sending more snatchers here.  Archin had to pick two of them that she caught on the stairwell from the quarry.  Rekilling walking corpses is one thing, but actually snuffing the life out of something living - even as worthless as goblins - could be distressing, and Archin has requested a few days off to calm her jangled nerves.  

The Union Gardens couldn't have been finished at a more opportune time; the snatchers were no where near our children who are in there partying with the soldiers and nobles.  I refuse to go in there, the floor is covered in vomit and spilled ale, but I suppose the party-goers, into their second month already, are so liquored up they don't notice the smell at all.

Likot Ropetunnel has stepped down as mayor.  While this may be cause for celebration as no longer will we have to suffer under her green-glass gaze, she's removed herself from power so her daughter, Melbil Ropetunnel, could take the throne.  The citizens are happy; Likot stays mostly in the barracks target practicing to perfect the use of her one armed custom-crossbow, but I don't believe this at all.  She's stepping back into the shadows, controlling the throne from afar with Aryn, and using her daughter as a meat shield for anyone who might want to "strike a blow" at those in control.  

I didn't want it to come to this, but it may be time to consider removing Likot from the equation...

***

Edit: Damn you, Dojango!  You jinxed me.  I was vomit free until you asked me about it, and now there is barf eeeevvverywhere.  I think a soldier, crippled for 2 or 3 years, or happily running to The Party Room and just spewing bile all over the place.  If I find out who it is... Grr!

[ May 17, 2008: Message edited by: Heavy Flak ]

[Heavy Flak]

!!ATTENTION!! !!ATTENTION!!

Two things, folks, then back to your regularly scheduled story.

1) The next cryptogram will be posted Thursday, May 22nd around 8pm EST.  There may be a couple story posts that night AFTER it, but you're not going to hear from me until Tuesday, May 27th.  I'm going out of town for the Holiday weekend.  It's a funny coincidence, because the time limit for this puzzle happens to be on the 27th!  Standard rules apply: Solve it, you get a request.  Don't solve it?  Something "bad" will happen.

2) I wouldn't say this is a second contest per se, but I am putting something out there for my dear readers.  As could be seen from my attempt at sketching the founding party, I'm not really the most artistic cat in the alley.  So here's the scoop.  I want two or three murals that can be done in stone for the Great Flooring Project.  They'll either go in the courtyard, or alongside the southbound road that leads to the town.  I've got the standard colors (grey, white, yellow, green, (some) red, (some) dark blue, some teal) and want to spice things up a little.

So, have at it.  So long as it's not a modern day thing (like ... uh, an 8-bit Cellphone), or some meme, it'll be considered.  Our civilizations symbol is a mountain goat if that could help spark any ideas.  If I don't get any suggestions in a while, I'll make up something wholly generic like axes and swords and sickles and hammers.  

!!END ATTENTION!!

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 3rd of Galena, 1061

Dojango sat at the top of the unfinished 3rd-story parapet, his stubby legs dangling down over the edge.  He kept his chin in his hands and sighed heavily, glassy eyes staring out across the expansive wastes.  He watched, bored, as the out of control Swordsman tromped across the sand, scattering the bones of yet another group of Dread Camels.  He sighed again as one of them was knocked back, his back stepped on, the commander cuffing the bruised dwarf with the back of his hand before knocking off one of their heads with the flat of his sword.

"Oh!  I didn't think I'd find anyone up here.  There usually isn't,"

Dojango turned his head towards the voice, and saw the red-faced philosopher Bertrand peeking his head up from the stair well.  He flashed a toothless smile, limping up the last of the steps.  Eventually, he took a seat beside the cook, puffing slightly.  "You look dejected, friend.  What's on your mind?"

"Well," started Dojango.  There was a moments pause, but he soon continued on.  Why hide tihngs from the the old man?  The only one he rubbed wrong was Aryn, and in this day and age that was a blessing in itself.  The master chef shrugged, "We're out of food stuffs.  I've got no work to do."

"No food?" Asked Bertrand, his worry exaggerated.  "But if we have no food, what will we eat?"
"No, no, I mean... there's no more meals to make.  If you've been in the larder recently, have you seen all those barrels?  They're all packed with dried roasts, with preserved stews.  We've got thousands of meals down there, thousands of gallons of liquor.  The only animals left here are pets.  Aryn has ordered the farms shut down too, because there's just no space for the produce; all our barrels are used to store prepared meals... I'm basically jobless now."

Bertrand shook his head slowly.  One wrinkled hand lifted; came to rest on the cooks shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  "Isn't that always the way?  You pour your heart, your soul into something you love, and just as you hit your stride it's snatched away from you by men who just don't understand.  You could have work, and so could the carpenters, building barrels.  The farmers would get work then, too... but a dozen have been laid off because of ... what?  The mandates of a single man, lacking vision."

They sat in silence for a few minutes; young and old, both staring across the red sand, across a plain of bones and dust, a land of death.  

"Do you know why the camels come back to life?" asked Bertrand, breaking the silence.
"What?  Uhh, no I don't.  Do you?"

"I have theories," said Bertrand. "I've been studying the lands.  I've bought a few bones from Akroma to look at.  I think there's something in the ground here, it's seeping through.  I don't want to make any wild accusations," he smiled. "But I think this... energy leaks out, latches on to things.  I think that's why it's perverted the natural order of life, because it soaks into the camels bones.
"You know, Dojango, I've seen you in the kitchen.  You're a hard worker.  You don't deserve this treatment, the things Aryn has said about you."  Though Dojango narrowed his eyes, Bertrand continued on before he could ask a question, "It's not much, but would you like to help me in my laboratory?  I- oh, look at me.  I'm sorry.  Of course you wouldn't.  It would be an insult to you, what with the pay being so poor and the work so menial..."

Dojango sat in silence for a moment, his head bowed, staring down over the edge.  He glanced to his right at the old man, a faint smile on his face. "Well... I could only work with you until work in the kitchen came through.  I wouldn't want you to think I'd be a full-time assistant.  I wouldn't know the first thing about what you do."

"You've just made an old man very happy.  I understand completely; your first obligation is to the stomachs of the civilians, I'm just pleased to have an assistant - however short term.  Meet me in my lab in an hour.  I'll have you caught up in no time."

Bertrand stood with a groan, knotted hands holding his lower back as he straightened.  He slowly walked to the stairs, and down them, vanishing from view.  Dojango watched until he was gone from view and turned his gaze back to the wastes.

[Kuli]

Any minimum/maximum size requirements for the mural?  Not saying I'll do one, but I'll at least think about it.

The civilization symbol is a mountain goat?  What about the group symbol for The Polished Trumpet?

If anyone was curious, at Zoden Zefon the civ symbol for The Revered Lash was a sasquatch, while the group symbol for The Circle of Harmony was a hatch cover.  For some reason my engravers made a whole lot of sasquatch images but hardly any hatch cover images.  Hopefully choosing your group's symbol will be possible in future version of DF.  Hmm, I should check the bloats it might already be in there somewhere.

[Heavy Flak]

quote:Originally posted by Kuli:
<STRONG>Any minimum/maximum size requirements for the mural?  Not saying I'll do one, but I'll at least think about it.

The civilization symbol is a mountain goat?  What about the group symbol for The Polished Trumpet?</STRONG>

Oops!  Turns out I made a mistake, thanks for bringing that up Kuli.  Mountain Goats are the symbol for The Polished Trumpet (and Rice LOVES engraving them).  For some reason I can't find out what the symbol for The Razors of Dance are.  Maybe once I get a little farther in I'll explore the world some more and try to turn up just what it would be.  For the record, I think your sasquatch symbol beats out mountain goats any day.

The requirements on mural sizes?  Uhh... something like 16x16 would be pretty good.  Even something as big as 24x24 wouldn't be balked at, but might be hard to place properly and we might run out of certain colored stones (specifically, kimberlite and cinnabar).

[Kagus]

code:

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,###,#,,,,
,,,,#,,,#,,,,,
,,,,#,,,#,,,,,
,,,,,###,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,#,,,,,
,,,,,,,,#,,,,,
,,,,,###,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The mighty mountain goat.  Dwarf Fortress style.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

My local goblin ruler is called Olsmo.
That's a rather nasty coincidence <:C

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 24th of Galena, 1061

Johnny leaned against one of the statues in the tombs.  He was covered in a layer of sweat and dust, and though exhausted from the work he was happy.  He'd started a competition with Engraver Erith over who could make the most pictures the fastest, and they'd been going at it all morning, good natured insults hurled down the usually-silent hallways.  Johnny was actually up by two in points, and as a reward he afforded himself this small breather.

Stretching his sore muscles, he picked up his mallet and chisel, moving to an unengraved section of floor.  There was a pause as he thought of what he could put down... inspiration eventually hit, and with a smile he began to lean over, to set to work.

Johnny was sent sprawling as a Dwarf collided with him at nearly a full run.  Rebounding his head off the floor, a sunburst of sparks flashed in front of his eyes.  When the daze cleared from his mind and his eyes focused, he looked up confused to see a very agitated Vash tugging the tattered shirt off his back.  As the fabric ripped Johnny slumped back down to the stone.  

"Wha'... the feck are you doin?" He groaned weakly.  He reached out before Vash could get away, snagging the hem of the shirt.  Vash stopped his retreat, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry, but it's ... Aryn's new mandate.  He said we looked like filthy peasants and dirt farmers and that would not do.  So, ahh, all clothing that isn't in good condition gets the magma bath.  Once that's finished, all clothing that isn't exceptional gets it."

Johnny blinked.  Brows knitting together in thought, he started to open his mouth.  It was only then he noticed Vash was wearing a blue dyed dress.  Vash averted his eyes, coughing softly before saying, "Everyone who isn't a miner or engraver has to round up the clothing.  And it's to be tossed regardless of the owners wants... I was blindsided by Akroma and Dojango earlier, who seem to think this is the height of comedy, and this is the only thing I could find..."

Picking himself up off the floor, Johnny sighed.  "Fine, whatever.  Look, nex' time, jus' lemme know, okay?  Ya' dunnae need to go 'round knocking me out then tryin' t'strip me down."
"Well ... alright.  But you better drop those duds off soon."

Vash left quickly, leaving Johnny alone in the tombs.  He rubbed the back of his aching head, cursing quietly.

***

OOC: The idea of dumping all the old clothing came from something Stravitch said to me, and I liked the idea enough to enact it in this fortress.  These dwarves socialize too much, their time needs to be wasted doing more hauling tasks!

[Heavy Flak]

From the journal of Aryn Estetar

The Soldiers are complaining of being on duty for months on end, but we can no longer afford the luxury of constant training.  Another jeweler was trampled to death, along a butcher.  Regardless of how many of these foul beasts I have put to death, it seems two spring up in their place.  We're drowning in bones now, and despite Bertrand and Dojango having free reign to take any that Akroma doesn't want for their studies, we're still overflowing the courtyard.  I may start having the bones dumped as well ... perhaps the cleansing magma will stop them from returning, or resurrecting, or whatever it is those beasts do.

The caravans from home were seen on the horizon, their wagons laden with pig iron.  Hopefully we'll receive a fair price for this years haul of useless trinkets and crafts, but I doubt that-

***

"Behind ya', Nish!" Kel bellowed.  The macedwarf spun in time to see the leering skull face of a Dread Camel bearing down on her.  She swung her mace in a backhand, the hardened skull cracking under the blow.  The beast toppled and rolled to a halt in the sand, holding it's shape for just a moment before the powers granting it a second life broke, and the bones collapsed into a vague camel shape.

"Thanks Kel," she called, watching the hammerer crush another camel.  "The merchants seem to be making it alright, let's finish these off and - what?  What is that?"
"What is what?"
"Don't you see it?  Over that ridge there, that... is that an iron helm?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, I don't see any- Oh no, are those?  GOOOBBBBBLINNNNSS!"
"Run!  Get to the fortress! Go!"
"I'm ru-Auggh!" Kel dropped to the ground, his screams muffled by the mass of yellow and black fur on top of him.  Nish glanced over her shoulder to see the zombie jaguar mauling the hammerer.  She could try to save him, but the goblins would reach her...and that would leave them both dead.  That wasn't something she particularly wanted.  She said a silent prayer for her old friend and looked forward, puffing hard as she pounded sand, towards the safety of the fortress.

***

"Ha ha ha!  Die! <chnnk> Die!  <chnnk> DIEEEE! <chnnk>"

Ranger Papercontrolled stomped down on the foothold at the end of her crossbow.    She yanked back on the slide with one hand, the other grabbing a bolt from her quiver, stuffing it into the slot.  She kicked the tip of the crossbow up as she lifted her arm, shouldering it quickly and taking aim.

"Ha!  DIE GREEN SKIN!"

She'd been out hunting the only live camel in the plains when the siege was announced.  The large, clanging bell inside the fort was ignored, the Rangers bloodlust taking over for good sense.  Already four goblins were laying face down in the dirt, pierced through with bolts.  The hammerers closest to her were laughing as the bolts flew past, unaware that she was dropping them back-to-front.  Their numbers dwindling already.

Five down; six, seven.  Laughing and slotting another bolt, a hammerer charged into her but she moved at the last second, sending him sprawling into the sand.    Pulling to his feet he took a swing at Ranger Papercontrolled, who blocked with her crossbow and put a bolt through his stomach.  

The goblins set upon her, sheer numbers overwhelming her.  She was still firing as they knocked her unconscious with hammer blows.  They continued to beat at her corpse, leaving it just a smear in the sand, an unrecognizable lump of mangled meat and worn, un-burned clothing.

[Heavy Flak]

from the files of Aryn Estatar
17th of Limestone, 1061

The goblins have been routed, as to be expected.  They're nothing but animals, attracted to shiny objects.  They just so happen to be graced with opposable thumbs and the most rudimentary understanding of tools.  In my travels, I once witnessed a Mandrill attempting to open a large cache of walnuts.  Try as he might he couldn't get in, but eventually his tiny brain understood that with a rock, he could crack the shell and get to the meat inside.

These goblins are nothing more than green mandrills, dressed in armor, pretending to be sentient.  

Sergeant Towersacks defended the south and east of the fortress, while Sulari took the north.  To even mention what happened north would be an insult to our Great Axeswinger, but four of the peasants did vomit upon seeing the abattoir the wastes have been reduced to.

According to Sergeant Towersacks, Varen was the stand-out star of the southern defenses, personally sticking eight goblin hammerers; routing the attack.  Despite this success, we still lost one of our Swordsmen, one of Stravitch's Guard, and what was apparently a suicidal ranger, her corpse found surrounded by more than a half-dozen dead gobbos.  

At least the merchants made it into the base safely.  This whole ordeal could have been avoided if I could have closed and locked the gates, but after the last incident with Rice and Lucy I'm going to do nothing with those mountainhome fools except trade.  When all this shit comes to a head, when we're under the thumb of someone worse than Queen Risen, I'm going to make sure Rice and Lucy have their faces rubbed in this mistake before I fix the problem once again...

[Electrum]

Good to hear my guy's making goblin brochettes! Sergeant Towersacks might not have Sulari's accolades, but she's level-headed, respectable and fun to work with. I loved reading the Rosycats & Guildstern bits, and Miss Papercontrolled's rapid reload crossbow.

Come to think of it, whatever happened to Major Fourdash Daycovering? If he was a hammerdwarf, maybe the new guy'll be working with him?

[Heavy Flak]

Kagus: Heh, that's actually what my original thought was for the murals, just make giant g's and C's and <different> g's, and not explaining to anyone what the hell they were.  Is that ... a camel?  Or a colossus?  It's a mystery!  

Maggarg: You need to watch out for that goblin ruler; sounds like bad omens indeed!  Olsmo's great and terrible power extends even to other players games.  All Hail Lord Olsmo!

Electrum: I actually thought Papercontrolled was going to get out of there alive.  A simple ranger took out 7 hammergoblins, and was blocking and dodging them and shooting them in the stomach at point blank range.  A lucky hit busted her hand though, and that was all she wrote.

Major ---- DayCovering is an interesting case.  He's an exceptional wrestler/hammerer/axeman/swordsman who will NOT go into combat.  It was to the point where we had Dread Camels running amok in the courtyard, and he was blithly ignoring them, chilling out by the well while they terrorized civilians until Stravitch ended their fun.  Regardless of where I put his squad marker if he's on duty he's hanging out in the Church.  Off duty, he'll happily training.  Maybe pairing him up with The New Guy could break him out of this funk... Hmm.