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[GeneralValter]

And so my year ends. It was quite eventful, considering. The total adamantine count is actually at 580. I could have monogrammed adamantine heavy armor produced for every dwarf in the fort and still have enough left over for some tacky statues.

The main source of concern is the lag, but it should go away once the charcoal stops burning. It's already wearing out, so I hope it won't be long.

I left explicit instructions on what the next ruler should finish up with on the DFFD. Feel free to ignore them if you want to do your own thing; this fort is no longer my responsibility   :p

Still, one repercussion you should expect as a result of my year is a massive upswing of immigration. I think I added a full million monies of wealth to the fort in my year, mostly from adamantine. Keep that in mind and make extra bedrooms!

Here it is, and good luck! http://dffd.wimbli.com/file.php?id=142

[fleacircus]

Erm ya, 7fps.  It's not the animals. I'll give it a bit for the coal to burn, but if it doesn't speed up soon I'll have to bow out.

[Donkringel]

Haha hope you don't. I dloaded the map to get accustommed with the site, and accidentally released the demons. Everything is on fire now. The only survivors are the masons

[GeneralValter]

Argh. I'd hate to be the one responsible for grinding this project to a halt.

If anybody wants, I could just hold onto the fortress until the coal burns out. I won't do anything interesting during that time, but I do feel bad about leaving the fort in such poor condition.

[fleacircus]

I've made it to mid-summer in sort of "just messing around mode", I guess I can continue despite the problems....

[fleacircus]

Journals of Inspector Kosak the Tanner

* I begin this journal on 1062, 1st Granite, the very first day of my official inspectorhood of Mafolmondul, the Chambergrave. I have of course lived here some time as "Kosak the Tanner" while I learn the lay of this place and establish my background. To my horror, they have actually employed me as a Tanner!  I knew I should have gone with "Cheese Maker", but that might have been too obvious, and plus I would have had to talk cheese with the Mayor-Champion, who would probably quickly discover that I was no humble cheese-maker but instead a fellow Inspector from the Mountainhome. And he would quickly know I had been sent here to thwart his treachery, and put Mafolmondul back in its proper, subservient, place!

Oh how I miss the Mountainhome! The Halls of Privilege, vast and high-pillared, with stately tower caps growing in abundance among lavish dwellings where playful young noblewomen frolic... to lose site of this and seek to increase some mere outpost's riches at the expense of the glory of the Mountainhome... it makes me ill.

Of course it is also true the Mayor-champion could crush out my life with his left thumb. My position here is righteous, but precarious.

Yes, where was I?  It has been some time ago that I established contact with my Control, Solon the Potash-maker, whom they've perversely employed here as a butcher. This of course explains why it took me so long to establish contact, as my many pointed hints to members of the guard about the finer points of potash-making did not result in the desired exchange of passwords and in fact might have damaged my reputation somewhat.  Fortunately one day I overheard Solon mutter about all of us turning to ashes and to his surprise I responded with the catchphrase about purring maggots! He assured me that my disguise was so good he had no inkling I was the new Inspector, which would explain why he was in no hurry to seek me out these last few months. Solon is a scraggly older dwarf who claims this his is his sixth fortress as Controller. I sense he will be invaluable to me as an advisor and helpdwarf.

Today he took me on a tour. First he introduced me to the Baronness, who of course is our primary ally -- after all, it is the interests of the noble familes that we inspectors serve. I give much credit to Solon for winning her trust and assistance. Solon assures me that she can funnel my directives (Solon said "our" directives, I shall correct him on this later) to her subordinates and no one will know their true source.

What I was not prepared for was the haunting beauty of the Baronness! Her downy-soft beard, the sturdy body that speaks of riches, some hints of her form and flesh showing through the gaps of her artfully tattered and shabby clothing, harkenening to mind the lofitest mighty mountains yielding rivers of pure platinum. And yes, her large eyes of pure olivine, flitting about randomly as she speaks of the importance of helmets. Her apartments seem to be a warren of smaller rooms strewn with helmets all over the floor and every surface. As we entered, Solon advised me to put one on, and I saw that he'd picked his already. In my haste I grabbed the nearest one, and as I tried to put it upon my head it pinched hard, being narrow, more fit for some smaller race!  The Baronness was not pleased, and I stood entranced while she lectured me on my poor choice of helm -- I don't remember a word of it.  Thoughtfully, Solon had brought along a list of suggested commands, and the Baronness and I made quick work of them before returning to the conversation about the importance of proper headgear in various occasions.

- Apparently, Solon's first order of business was to remove himself from the butcher trade. The poor dwarf, I fear the constant neighing and whinnying and mewling and yelping and whickering and lowing of the local livestock had driven him quite over the edge. I indulged him in this directive.

[Snugglebear]

You know, I wasn't going to take another look at this thread after the frustration that was my last turn, but that post right there makes it all worth it, flea.  

[fleacircus]

(Further notes from the Inspector)

- One thing I hate about this horrid monstrosity of a fortress is the constant howling wind noise. Truly, the wind blowing steadily out of the chasm does whistle through the immense ramshackle Spire and create a howling sound, blowing off one's hats and gloves and creating swirling eddies of the various discarded bits of clothing that litter the entire fortress.

But now I have discovered that the primary source of the noise is the actual burning of coal inside some kind of ~demon pit~, sucking in air and venting it out through ominous gaps in various walls including some that have the "DO NOT MINE OR DECONSTRUCT OR WE ALL DIE" signs tacked on them.

Some nights I think it is the demons themselves growling in anticipation of their release.  I find it to be incredibly tacky that the mining of adamantine was done so clumsily as to awaken their eons-old hatred, wrath, etc., and this is definitely going into my report.

Solon has tried to talk me out of it but I have a brilliant idea to fix the whole situation. If a brave miner digs a tunnel from our water source to the demon pits, then water can flood through the pits, snuffing out any demons and putting out that theoretical burning coal or whatever it is.  Then the howling will be gone and we can all finally get some sleep.

Our best miner, 'Valter' Zatamfikod, did not like the idea. Once he was done making comments upon my character and reiterating his "ten year plan" or somesuch, the Baroness made a casual comment about how there's nothing like a sound hammering to help fit a big skull to a too-small helmet. This changed the previous Overseer's outlook and he agreed with some dark muttered oath.

- Well it turns out my underlings did not implement the plan to my full satisfaction. The tunnel was dug, with one end at the pits and another at the water main, with the access door somewhere in the middle. Valter, after some further comment upon my ancestry (mostly inaccurate), ducked into the tunnel and headed down towards the demon pits. He made the breach, a foul stench and horrible howling filled the corridor.  Valter came sprinting back as fast as he could to breach the water-pipe. As he passed by the doorway on the way, he did seem to rather have a look of urgency on his face.

And indeed would appear that a reasonably terrifying fire demon had floated up out of the pit and was now coming down the tunnel after him.  Valter, babbling like a terrified child, hacked away at the wall to the water main, with his back to the hallway behind him, dark at first but starting to glow as the demon approached.

Valter made the second breach!  Water began to gush into the tunnel, and Valter turned and ran back towards the doorway and also towards the demon, water rushing quite literally at his heels.  But Valter was faster than demon and water and reached the doorway quite ahead of both!  But right as he was to turn the corner, a spear of flame shot from the mouth of the fire-spirit and seared nearly through Valter's left leg.

Valter fell down outside the door, immobilized on the edge of the chasm. He looked back towards the door, wondering if at any moment the demon would emerge, followed by his companions, to end his life and destroy Malfomondul and no doubt cause some kind of disruption to the regional economy.  I was watching from a safe distance with a packed suitcase.

"I'm sorry, Erib," he said, expecting to die.  Also he had some choice words for me that I don't recall, though I don't see how he knew I was watching.

But to our wonderment, and as a testament to my genius, the demon did not emerge and kill us all.

We have been able to discern that the demon to this day stands in the hallway, just a few feet from the doorway.  The water gushes down the tunnel, but as it reaches the demon it vaporizes into steam. The tunnel behind the demon is bone dry.  And the demon shows no inclination to press forward against the surge of water that is endlessly rushing at him but boiling away. It is a stale-mate, and against a foul being of the underworld that's practically a victory.

The door is now walled up.  Valter now sits in his bed, his half-withered leg propped up demanding water and food. I have declared operation flush-out-the-demons a limited success! Perhaps if Valter had simply run a little faster he could have escaped without injuring himself on the demon's hellfire bolt.

   

Though now the howling sound seems louder.

[ May 05, 2008: Message edited by: fleacircus ]

[Akroma]

we need more water pressure

maybe you can build some pumps increase the flow ?

[fleacircus]

(yet more further notes of the Inspector)

- Today I chanced upon Solon in the dining hall. Say what you will of this awful place, but the dining hall is truly legendary. Though, as I come to think of it, I am not sure if I have ever been to a fortress whose dining hall was not legendary to some degree or another. I suppose this might say something about what legends dwarves prefer.

Anyway as I approached Solon was talking to some woman dwarf from the most recent batch of boring migrants. She moved away just before I approached.

"Who was that, friend Solon?" I asked cheerfully, with a twinkle in my eye, knowing full well she was Cerol something-or-other.

"Just a friend," grumbled Solon as he squinted one eye to peer down into his mug.

"Aho-ho-ho-ho ho, my dear old dwarf Solon has a friend, it's no use pretending."

Solon gave me a murderous look, I'm sure I struck a nerve!  I continued in a conspiratorial tone. "I know her, you know."

"You do?" Solon asked guardedly.

"Yes, Cerol.. Cloudcakes?  No, Oilythighs!  Ah, I forget. Yes, not much to look at is she?  And DULL, my word. Not my type at all, I like them cultured and with some bit of noble blood, you know?  But she's perfect for you I believe." I smiled pleased with my own good natured encouragement of Solon's romantic pursuits.

"Yes, I guess she is a bit unimportant for you, and the last name is Oilythundered." Solon remarked dryly.  "It would be a real kindness if you made extra sure that she did not come to harm, Inspector, since I like 'er so much."

   

"Oh yes yes of course," I said, already bored with talk of this inconsequential matter.

- Continuing, I said, "Solon, what I have come to discuss is of far more import."

"What is it, the way our swordmasters seem to be killing off their sparring partners one by one, leaving them on the barracks floor to choke on their own blood?"

"No."

"Or perhaps it was the recent seige, where four human wagons attempted to make a run for the road but were butchered just outside our gates, while their own guards stood by doing nothing whatsoever, probably confused by our ludicrously elaborate gate system, and the rest of the caravan mills about the depot looking more and more melancholy?"

"No, not that either," I chuckled.

"Oh Kodor-be-damned, you're not still going on about the so called 'sock glut' are you?"

"No, but I do intend to bring that up at our next meeting of the inner circle."

"What is it then?" Solon asked, looking weary, exhausted by the limits of his own intellect.

"It is the subversive artwork of Atir the Engraver!"

He began to choke on his drink. To cover up his social gaffe I kept talking.

"Perhaps it was unfair that he was chained up outside in the sunlight for some trifling matter that did not really concern him. But it has had a somewhat negative effect on his artwork."

"Oh you mean all those menacing demons 'es been carving everywhere?"

"Those are quite upsetting but no, they do keep our commondwarfs reminded of their need for constant vigilance and obedience. Those are fine. And the one with the dog falling, that is a classic. But this sort of thing is inexcusable!"  With a flourish I set down the charcoal rubbing.

Solon gazed upon it. "What are those supposed to be, purring maggots?"

"Yes," I snorted, "obviously. And what can you make out of the dwarf?"

"Hm. Female. Not too pleased with the situation. What's she standing on, a helmet or something?"

"Yes, that is also quite expertly rendered," I said triumphantly. Solon looked up at me with that sort of tired look that older or more unintelligent dwarfs get when I speak with them.

"And?"

"'And'?!  Need I remind you how much the Baroness detests purring maggots!" I nearly shrieked with pent-up outrage.  Solon, poor dwarf, began to choke on his ale again and had to excuse himself. But I trust he understood my meaning and will look into the matter.

[ May 05, 2008: Message edited by: fleacircus ]

[fleacircus]

(Akroma... my year's almost up, I'm just dumping stuff getting ready to hand off my turn )  

(yet more further excepts from the journal of the Inspector)

- Well, my investigations into the sock glut continue. Our Hoardmaster has been kindly letting me go through the very large Footwear volumes where he has paintstakingly recorded the location, enumeration, description, and disposition of each and every sock and shoe in the fortress.

The numbers astonish and perplex me. They all must be thrown into the chasm.

Also I am genuinely puzzled by the gigantic mounds of clothing and mugs scattered all over the large courtyard of the fortress. Before I left to come here on my Inspection, I had read a report that they solved this problem long ago and cleaned the area out, but no it seems worse. And why mugs? There are many mysterious to this place.

Meanwhile my most successful project to date has been the waterfall that I directed Solon to construct. I merely commanded that it stream past the Baroness's chambers, and that some gem windows be added so that she may gaze upon it and perhaps remember my dutifulness, loyalty, and yes, as the months go by, perhaps she may come to think of me... no, I should not think such things.

Solon added that the waterfall should then splash down through a little sculpture garden to amuse our commondwarfs, then keep the well replenshed, and then spill over into the chasm, all without attaching directly to the Spire (he assures me this is an important architectural limitation with boring details).  I care little for these embellishments.

I should note that during construction the Dungeon Master fell down from an upper level, past the Baroness's windows, smashed through the floor-grates of the sculpture garden, and drowned in the reservoir before he could be rescued. This was a sad moment for he had long had a guiding hand on the fate of this fortress. And I had counted him as an ally -- he seemed to be of a right mind, and viewed with suspicion the treacherous dwarves of Malfomondul who harbor thoughts of independence from their noble masters of the Mountainhomes. And I hear the Dungeon Master was long ago a scourge of the "radical isolationist" group and was instrumental in stamping them out. Well, they are gone for good, so at least he saved me from having to contend with them!

[ May 05, 2008: Message edited by: fleacircus ]

[GeneralValter]

Argh. The dungeon master was legendary in just about everything! That really is a pity, although besides him I don't care much for nobles.

Did the smoke clear out alright? I still feel embarrassed for not fixing that by your turn.

[fleacircus]

(final entries from the report of the Inspector 1062)

- My year's Inspection draws to an end, and I find myself grown morose. Soon I will pass on this identity to some other dwraf and return to the Mountainhome with my findings.  I am not exactly without accomplishment, but not exactly covered in glory either.

O Malfomondul, how I despise and detest thee! The howling winds. The refuse everyhwere. The shabbily arranged mass-crypts. The memories of terror and slaughter. The stray beams of sunlight pouring in through chinks of the Spire's construction causing one's fellow-dwarves to spontaneously vomit on one's shoes.

But perhaps in my last days, I finally come to see the charm of the place. It is not dwarfly to live inside a constructed tower, but if a dwarf must do so, it should be a tower suspended inside a chasm, a tower within the earth. And I must also admit, chasms are quite handy for the disposal of socks and animals.

I also am sad to leave the enormous wealth of adamantine behind. I found no easy way to transfer the riches to the proper recipients in the Mountainhomes. Mere rumor of an adamantine strike will send a tremble through the nobility there, I fear to think what they will do when I verify beyond a doubt that Malfomondul sports a giant storeroom filled wall-to-wall with the stuff. I have much to think upon as I prepare my final instructions for Solon. Soon he shall arrive for the meeting and we shall say our goodbyes.

- Solon, I note, seems to have been in good spirits since the death of the Dungeon Master.  I felt compelled to ask him why.

"Oh, Inspector, I merely think of all we've accomplished together."

I gave him a glum look. "Why? The glove and mitten glut is yet unaddressed. That is to be your top priority in the coming months, you understand?"

"Oh yes of course. We'll get to that. Don't worry, I'll carry on your work. Then perhaps we shall find the cause of the disturbing litter of mugs in the old stockpiles outside." he said.

I nodded. "And, um.. don't tell anyone about project Flush the Demons II, okay?"

"As you wish, Inspector."

I wasn't sure whether to thank him gratefully or question his sincerity. As I was deciding my response, the whole dining room seemed to lurch heavily and I swear that the floor rippled as the whole Spire seemed to drop a few feet before lifting slowly and uncertainly back up. Near and far, dwarves shouted in response, many no doubt thinking it an earthquake, rushing off to emergency repair stations.

But instead of surprise or fear, Solon had a look of naked glee on his face, and he seemed not at all the dutiful right-hand-dwarf I had come to know this last year. He muttered, "It is ready.. it is ready at long last. Praise be the lady of the world-heart, the jewels of her bones, on her breath we waft.. waft.. waft..."

"What is ready? Solon, snap out of your nonsense-thoughts! There has been some kind of failure in the Spire's support structure. Are the demons out?!" I cleared my throat realizing I had squealed a bit. "I mean to say, should you not be investigating this?"

"No, it is expected. There can be no problem with the support structure, it's all gone now." he shook his head as if amazed. I felt a fear grip my stomach.

"What is this 'wafting'? A proper dwarf, my friend Solon, does not waft, I assure you, and I don't enjoy these riddles about the support structure. It cannot be 'gone'."

Solon laughed, and plucked a feather from my travelling-cap (a gift from the Baroness and very handsome and well-fitting I might add).  He leaned his head back and held the feather to his mouth, then exhaled floating the feather up in the air. I sat mesmerized as it hovered there over his head, kept afloat by a sustained exhalation, improbably stable.  Then Solon gulped in air, and the feather disappeared into his mouth and there was no sign of it anymore.

Solon grinned at me in a most disconcerting manner. "Farewell, Kogsak the Tanner," he said, and departed the dining hall.

[fleacircus]

I just played a year at 7-9 fps.    But the lever does work...). See the map for the right lever.

Current pop. is about 50, and there's a royal personage about, and lots more can be done with the Spire.  I didn't do anything at all developing it upwards, or using the adamantine for example.  And I'm sure someone can do better at killing the demons than I did...

[GeneralValter]

Wait wait wait wait. What?

Releasing Demons = Bad Idea. I sacrificed my FPS so that I could figure out where the pits were safely. There's no reason to open it up, unless you're SO greedy that you can't stand the presence of 10 or 12 chunks of unmined adamantine. I say leave it alone. If the charcoal is still burning, it should be only a season or two before it goes out.

Also, could I sign up for another round? I enjoyed my turn, but I didn't really accomplish much besides mining out all the adamantine. Most of my time was spent making blocks and filling in holes in the spire, or slaughtering animals by the dozen.

EDIT: I missed a few of your posts, fleacircus. Kind of pisses me off that my miner is now stuck on a bed. I really would have left the pits of evil alone, considering that they weren't doing anything at all to hurt us. Couldn't you have used someone else?  

[ May 05, 2008: Message edited by: GeneralValter ]