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[Rysith]

Silvereye was out with Grimes in the last Orc siege, but other than that there hasn't been much for him to do. He's got plenty of beak dog bone bolts to practice with, though.

Shoruke is getting ready to join the military full-time, just needed a few last things dug out with three rather than two miners.

[gumball135]

Hey, Rysith. Are you still using the old version of the Orc Mod for this? T'would be great to have a couple of the soldiers crushed under spiky elephant feet =p

Grimes: MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAAAAAAAKKKK-*splat*

[Rysith]

From the Journal of Unib Keskalerib, Mayor of Lanternwebs, Spring 114

  I cannot believe that I was so wrong about the elves. I had head stories, growing up in the mountainhomes, about how they would ride into fortresses on strange animals, towering over the dwarves yet weighing half as much, moving with otherworldly grace as they traded in exotic wares. Last year, I was disappointed that the orcs prevented their arrival. This year, I find myself wondering if we should ever allow them into the fortress again.

  It started with their diplomat, who had run ahead of the caravan and its slow pack animals. He barged in on the Countess while she was eating, informed her that we had disrespected the trees, made vague threats if we continued to abuse the land, and ran out before the Countess could get a word in. It's true that we recently started cutting trees to clear a space for the Countess's project, but we've cut no more than twenty trees, and that in an extremely small area. If they can't accept that sometimes trees are in the way and must be cut down, and dare to threaten us, they will find no welcome here.

  The caravan, though, proved to be no better. When they arrived and began unloading their wares, I rushed over to see what marvels they had brought to trade, and (knowing of their dislike of wooden goods) ordered several of our finest silks brought up for trade. What had they brought? A few pieces of wood, a pile of wilted-looking rat weed, and cloth. Bins and bins of cloth. Cloth that, compared to the cloth that our weaver turns out on a bad day, felt like raw burlap. The threads were short and mismatched, the color was unevenly applied, the bolts looking as if they would unravel the moment they were touched by a clothier. It would have to be a poor dwarf indeed that would wear such cloth in Lanternwebs. Needless to say, we bought the wood and nothing else, and sent them on their way with three orcish skull totems, each crafted by our master bonecarver, as both a gift to ensure future peace and prosperity and as a warning of what would happen should peace fail. I hope that they will be more helpful the next time they make the journey to Lanternwebs.

-----------
Gumball: These are Orcs 2.5 (remember, this started as a testing game), so no war elephants, though they do have most of the other features of orcs v3... Unless I replaced the Beak Dog creature with the War Elephant creature. I'll look into that: beak dogs die distressingly fast, and AWEs don't.

Looks like we're going to end up going another year with no sieges (summer 113 to summer 114), unfortunately. More time to get everything built, I suppose.

[ToonyMan]

What is Lanternwebs' exported goods value?

[WorkerDrone]

Very high?

[Rysith]

Lanternwebs's wealth stats right now:
Created: 13,081,533
Imported: 394,948
Exported: 137,970

Note that the imported  wealth is currently being artificially raised by the amount of goblin clothing that is lying around.

No update today, though I'll try to get one in over the weekend.

[WorkerDrone]

Oh, right...didn't you already melt down that stuff though?

You know, for your Mega Project? Sounds like THAT is going to need a bunch of steel.

[Rysith]

From the journal of Bomrek Shetbêthaban, Philosopher, Spring 114

  How glad I am, that the long journey to Lanternwebs is complete. Though the small group of migrants that I have been leading suffered many hardships along the path, both at the hands of the lands above and the foul orcs, none wished that they had turned back once we had arrived.

  And what is life, beyond a long journey filled with the good and the bad? Whether the bad is orcs or miasma, we endure the bad. Whether the good is a masterful piece of craftsdwarfship or arriving at a long-sought destination, we celebrate the good. Whether our path is covered in sharp rocks or smoothed by the finest engraver, we do what we can to help the others on their paths. Some are allowed to the end of the path early, like our swordsdwarf guard who died holding off orcs so that we could escape. Some, like me, expect to walk the path for hundreds of years, helping along all those that they meet. But we must all walk, and we must all do what we can to fulfill our purposes.

  That is the hope that each of these migrants brings. From stoneworker to soapmaker, from hunter to wood burner, they have all been drawn by the tales of Lanternwebs. Tales of the magnificent crafts, of the kindly rulers, of the mighty army. I know not what path each of them hopes to walk, nor which path they are destined to walk, but each of their paths has lead them to Lanternwebs, and I have come to guide them on their way.

-------
Workerdrone: Unfortunately, narrow cave spider silk doesn't melt well, and I haven't set up an incinerator for it. I've been trying to unload as much of it as possible on the caravans, but the lack of haulers has been getting in the way of that. Since I'm not going to draft the latest batch of migrants yet (since I need to let the previous batch train up to avoid killing them all), there will hopefully be time to get rid of a lot of it in autumn.
 

[Rysith]

From the journal of Countess îton Gimgoden, Spring 114

  One year. This month marks one year that I have presided over Lanternwebs. I would say "ruled", but there has hardly been any ruling to do. There are no unhappy dwarves to meet with, no hammerings or prison sentences to be dispensed. The Orcs have assaulted us, of course, but I am hesitant to interfere in military matters: Flint and The Tooninator have everything under control, and I wouldn't know the first thing to do on a battlefield. Even now, I can hear them training for the next siege. With Bomrek the Philosopher's tale of fighting the Orcs to arrive here, it cannot be far off.

  One year in which I have seen unmatched craftsdwarfship. Even now, a coal-fired glass furnace is being built for the latest dwarf to be struck by inspiration. They refuse to work in one of the magma-heated furnaces, claiming that they need greater control of the heat for their project. Where before I would have demanded to know what work they were preparing that required such special treatment, here I've learned to simply go along with the requests, that I might gaze in wonder at the inevitable product.

  One year in which I have seen unmatched fighting skill and courage. Where soldiers are not considered worthy of a title when they have achieved mastery of their weapon, but when they have slain a hand's worth of foes on the field of battle. Where steel-armored champions fearlessly charge foes twice their size. Where new recruits are sent against fully-equipped goblin ambushes at 2:1 odds for practice. Where the dead are not mourned but venerated in the Warrior's Tomb.

  One year in which I have seen unmatched wealth. The finest steel armor covers every soldier, the finest engravings decorate every bedroom, and the finest clothing covers every dwarf. The great golden door to my chambers is worth more than an entire suite in the mountainhomes. Requests for brass and aluminum items are met with matched sets of goblets that the Queen herself would be honored to drink from. The common dwarves gather in a statue garden graced by masterfully-carved statues of pure platinum and gold.

  I must leave now to care for my infant daughter, Zefon Blazesiron. If this one year of Lanternwebs is any indication, her future is very bright indeed.

---------------

Just wrapping up summer before the Summer siege, which would prevent me from mentioning things between the migrants and the beginning of Summer.

[Rysith]

Logem Avaldîshmab's eyes gazed down the Unnamable Point towards the entrance to Lanternwebs. On his head, his steel helm sat firmly, buckled for combat and framing the deep brown of his hair in gray metal. Below the strap, the flowing curls of his beard mixed with the rings of his chainmail, covering and protecting his stout body out to his steel gauntlets and boots. At his side hung a short sword, traces of dried orcish blood still decorating the blade and handle.

The spear that held him upright shifted, and the eyes, pupils contracted in the harsh glare of the summer sun, shifted to the west, looking out over the Forest of Funerals at the orcish lashers and crushers advancing through the dead wood, their iron armor blending with the blackened trees as they drove their beak dogs forward. The spear moved again, sweeping his gaze to the east and to the carvers on the hills by the river valley. The movement shifted the head of the spear, and a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to dry in his beard.

Behind him, Aslot Uraruxnu shook the spear again and the trickle intensified, dwarven blood tracing a bright red line across the matted beard. Logem's head lolled to the side, the tip of the spear in his mouth slicing a broad gash along the top and tearing through his cheek, allowing the last of his blood to spill down his face and splatter on the stone of the mountain. The orcs had come again.

-------------

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Logem was one of those annoying dwarf migrants who come in as a military profession and thus station themselves at the edge of the map, so I didn't notice that he existed until the siege arrived on top of him.

[ToonyMan]

Sieged! Sieged! Sieged!

[Rysith]

"The orcs are not a challenge. The orcs are a test." Those had been Tosid's words as he swept into the barracks and ordered that most of the Grand Army remain within the fortress. He had chosen less than a dozen warriors to do battle with the eighty orcs that threatened them, and as she strapped her platemail on, Shoruke wondered if it would really be enough.

She trusted Tosid, of course. Even now that he had yielded control to the Countess and Unib, Unib didn't do much actual leading, and the Countess had often been seen consulting with Tosid, so the fortress's success really had to be attributed mostly to him. This was part of one of his plans, the "phases" that he was always mumbling about but never actually revealed, she was sure.

Doubt still filled her. Each of the dwarves he had chosen were competent fighters, certainly, but with the eleven that Tosid had chosen they would be fighting outnumbered three to one at best, and at worse than ten to one if the four squads marching through the forest attacked as a group.

Her armor strapped on and her pick ready, she jogged out to the surface, where the eleven chosen warriors were gathering. She could already see the first squad of orcs running at the gates from the hills. She could see The Tooninator and Workerdrone, both with their swords out, eager to prove dwarven steel superior to orcish flesh. In front of her, Flint stood confidently, watching the orcish advance as he waited for the right moment to engage. Eleven dwarves against sixteen orcs. That didn't seem nearly as bad as it had before. Her pick ready, she waited for Flint's order to charge.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[WorkerDrone]

For Lanternwebs!

Show these green bastards back to hell lads! Charge!

[Flintus10]

Ah every battle gets better so i look foward to this one 

[Rysith]

Argentum's heart pounded beneath the thick steel of his breastplate. He gripped his sword, the mirror polish marred only by the nicks from his latest sparring session. In his left hand, the leather strap of his shield twisted as he held it tightly, his muscles tense with fear and adrenaline. He was a champion of Lanternwebs. He had fought hundreds of times, blocked thousands of blows. But now, standing in front of the bridge besides the ten others that Tosid had chosen, would be the first time that he would be swinging his sword to kill rather than tap, and the first time that when he locked eyes with his opponent nothing but fury would look back.

In front of him, Orcs howled and beak dogs shrieked as they charged towards them, axes raised high as clawed feet tore dry grass from the brown soil. Flint stood in front, holding them back, waiting for the charge to close. He could see the frontmost orc standing in his saddle, an arrow drawn back on his twisted iron bow as his beak dog drew away from the others, eager to shed the first dwarven blood.

The scar on his right arm ached as his muscles corded around it, but he found himself unable to relax his grip. The wound had been gained not in combat but in training, an overeager sword thrust catching under his arm guard and twisting, leaving a V-shaped scar in his forarm. Then, he had been surrounded by his friends and rushed to bed, where he had spent a month waiting for the wound to heal. Here, he would be surrounded by the chaos of battle, and it might be hours before someone could safely recover him. All of his training would be tested this day, he knew. But now, he had learned more. Now, caution would not temper his swings. Now, the black iron of the orcs would not pierce his armor before his steel blade had found their hearts.

The archer loosed his arrow, the barbed shaft flying towards the waiting dwarves to be swatted contemptuously away by Workerdrone. Flint lowered his shield to cover his body and bellowed as he charged, the shout strengthened by the dwarves following behind him as it echoed down the river valley. Argentum could see The Tooninator rushing ahead, his shield high to catch arrows as he raced to meet the orcs, and quickened his pace. Fear and pain melted as The Tooninator met the orc and the beak dog erupted in a fountain of blood, the fury and excitement of battle banishing them from his mind as the grip on his sword and shield grew even tighter.

He reached The Tooninator as the wave of orcs hit, and the sounds of combat surrounded him. His world was filled with dwarves and orcs, the squeal of iron on steel, the screams of wounded beak dogs, and the wet slaps of limbs and bodies dropping to the ground. His sword and shield moved with the grace of long training, striking at throats without thought as the shield deflected axe-strokes like falling pebbles. Blood splashed his helmet as he took a wrestler's head, the warm blood soaking into his beard as he spun to parry an axe and slid through to take the arm that held it. Distantly, he heard Flint calling for pursuit as the orcs fled, their strength broken and their dead littering the field. With a quick step forward, he pierced the ribcage of the stunned orc, and the battle was over.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Argentum staggered slightly as the pain in his arm slammed into him, sheathing his sword and flexing his fingers to loosen the muscles in his arm. He slowly let go of the shield, letting it hang by a single strap from his arm as he stood in the carnage of the battlefield. Next time, he was sure, he would be more relaxed. Flint was ordering them to regroup now, and he knew that the next time could not be far away.

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First battle movie
15 dead orcs, 15 dead beak dogs, 65 assorted body parts, and no dwarven casualties. An excellent start.