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[Iituem]

Emerin's Log
1st Granite, 353

A new year dawns, and with it New Year accidents.  A group of lads went for a stroll along the spire construction platforms after some pretty heavy imbibing last night, then struck upon the brilliant idea of doing some twilight masonry.  It took about ten minutes for Dastot the soaper to fall nearly a hundred feet onto his head.  By Deler's own grace, he hit the sand, but his head's been split open and he hasn't moved since they carted him back to the camp.


3rd Granite, 353

The recent construction accident involving the poor soaper Dastot has brought the question of death to a lot of our minds.  Dastot, bless his soul, survived the fall but has fallen into a deep trance and will not awake, quite possibly a result of the massive head trauma.  Nothing much can be done for him save try to feed and water him, but the plans for the mourning chamber have been amended to include provisions for a burial chamber for Dastot as well, just in case.


10th Granite, 353

The caravan from Loyaraafe arrived, the elves bringing their various wares.  There were a few logs of wood, but the remainder was largely cloth of various types, which we have taken on for the sake of craftswork.  The total value of the goods was not any great deal, so they were willing to accept a barrel of these quaint little mallota pastries that Urgash learned to cook from one of the dwarves here.  The elves tried some and apparently they just can't get enough.

The elves also brought a small pet toad, though not for trade.  This precipitated an amusing event when captain Ragna caught sight of it and let loose the most effeminate shriek anyone has ever heard her make.  She ran full pelt away from the marketplace and locked herself in her office for an hour, mumbling something about 'the Toady One' and something to do with blood.  She eventually emerged after the elves had left and refused point blank to discuss the issue with anyone.

To commemorate (mock?) the occasion, Karana carved a depiction of Ragna fleeing from a horde of toads out of rubicelle and set it into one of the trade bracelets.  She offered it to Ragna as a gift and got a slap to the face in response.  Loksvig thought this was a particularly good joke and says he'll buy it as soon as he gets enough firecaps, provided we don't trade it off first.

[Keita]

possesed, demented child who wants to chisle peoples spines...

I'm honered to post in a thread of pure win

Loving the Today One bit

[Iituem]

Is that a request or a reference to poor Yngwie?  o:


Also, I'm declaring another mod.  I'm sick and tired of the fact that when I kill a bunch of goblins, they're inevitably wearing more than the net worth of my entire fortress.  It essentially kills any reason to make trade crafts for me.

So I've dropped the modvalue on GCS in this game to 2.  Goblin clothing will now merely be worth double rather than ten times ordinary clothing, and the trade screen stops being so horribly, horribly broken.

(If you want to know how broken, I've played to summer and met the human traders.  I had enough to buy out their entire stock and a half just selling all the GCS silk clothing from a goblin raid.)


Next update when I'm sure I've written enough to keep my buffer steady.

[ousire]

"Because we'll show them, mister Fath!  We'll show them all."

ok, before i was a little creeped out that my character was tailed by the insane chick who likes to change peoples faces, but now she's my best friend. anyone who messes with her will be turned into fuel for smelters and will have parts of them decorate my mechanics! 

[Eagle]

See, Ragna's old enough to remember when the Toady One created the world, and remembers his mighty glory. She can see inklings of this glory in his holy creatures, thats why she cant stand them. 

[Iituem]

See, Ragna's old enough to remember when the Toady One created the world, and remembers his mighty glory. She can see inklings of this glory in his holy creatures, thats why she cant stand them. 

You have no idea how fortunate the starting date of this fortress is for me regarding that.  No dwarf is alive today who wasn't born after Year Zero.

[Eagle]

See, Ragna's old enough to remember when the Toady One created the world, and remembers his mighty glory. She can see inklings of this glory in his holy creatures, thats why she cant stand them. 

You have no idea how fortunate the starting date of this fortress is for me regarding that.  No dwarf is alive today who wasn't born after Year Zero.

So Ragna's basically the only one of the Originals still alive? Cool.

[Iituem]

18th Granite, 353

Dodok stumbled up the northern mountain face, dragging his sack of diorite to the workshops for block cutting.  He grunted and groaned under the weight until he reached a small plateau, stopping for a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow.  Zan, his faithful companion, barked sharply down the edge of the plateau.

"What is it, boy?" Dodok called.  The hound started growling, then launched itself off the edge in a flurry of barks cut short by a yelp and high-pitched whine.  Dodok rushed to the edge of the plateau and looked down where, to his horror, Zan lay bisected in a bloody heap.  Five goblins, two in iron chainmail and wielding a claymore and scimitar respectively, looked up at him.

"Goblins!" Dodok managed to cry before he call became a blood-curdling shriek.  He stared down in horror at the bloody blade protruding from his chest and, as he slid forward along it, the leering eyes of the goblin swordsman turned to grey.

Dwarves milled back and forth as the goblin raiders struggled up the hill, dropping blocks and tools and abandoning their work to run for the safety of the encampment.  The goblins just managed to crest the mountain's edge when the the four militia members, wielding swords, axe and spear, crashed into the band like a wave.  Garbed only in leather armour, Datan rushed forward and swung up with his axe, cleaving one of the unarmed goblins open.  As his first victim's soon-to-be lifeless form fell to the ground in a writhing heap, Datan's axe stroked straight down again, clanging heavily against the armoured chest of the claymore-wielding swordsman.  The goblin raised his blade to strike, but Datan pulled back his axe and rammed it into the goblin's gut, causing the creature to vomit in disorientation and his blade to harmlessly crash to one side of the axedwarf.  Khain, spear in hand, stepped behind the swordsman and flanked him, jabbing with his spear until Jora's eloquent swordstroke sliced apart the tendons in his shield arm, leaving the goblin open for the axedwarf Goden to bring his weapon down upon the goblin's skull with a mighty crack.

The three surviving goblins cried out and began running in different directions.  Jora leapt down from a higher ledge and caught one of the goblins' legs with her sword, tripping it over with a flourish.  The wrestler hit the ground with a heavy thud and managed to turn back upwards just in time for Khain to drive his spear through its chest, watching it writhe to stillness with grim satisfaction.  Ragna had already begun chasing the second swordsman and even though she held a head start, Ragna's indomitable toughness and strength were outflanked by Datan's athletics and the young fighter sprinted past her and leapt into the air, screaming a battlecry. 

The goblin fell to the floor and looked up at Datan's silhouette, gleaming in the spring sun, as it descended upon her.  She rolled to one side, the axe narrowly missing her fingers as it struck the hard chalk ground.  The goblin raised her shield to block the blow as again and again rained down the axe's blade.  With a mighty heave, Datan brought the axe down upon the shield, battering it into the goblin's chest and breaking her grip.  Panting and dripping with sweat from the exertion, Datan brought the axe up and let loose a fell cry, swinging the axe about and striking the goblin's chest from below in a vile uppercut, splitting open the ribcage and exposing the organs to the elements.  Datan slumped by the body, holding himself up by the hilt of his axe. 

Ragna strode over the crest of the hill at a leisurely pace, sparing a glance to the creature.

"Finish her," she commanded.  Datan looked at her in blank exhaustion.

"Gigin's teeth, captain!" he managed.  "I've already axed two of them today!  Give a guy a break."

Ragna rolled her eyes, then readied her sword and swept the unfortunate cretin up with it in a mighty blow, launching the body a full five feet away where it splattered into a messy heap upon the chalk, organs spilling freely upon the ground.


A lone goblin escaped the slaughter of the axedwarves, fleeing for the safety of the desert sands.  As he ran, he could not believe his luck.  The others were all gone, surely, but the rumour had been confirmed about this settlement and he would live to receive the reward for finding it!  Once he had passed this dwarf he could tell everything to his commanders, who would - wait, this dwarf?

The goblin ran smack into Broose, who had been on a morning jog through the desert.  The old soldier reached out with one meaty hand and grabbed the goblin by the throat, lifting it into the air as it flailed desperately in an effort to escape.  He had no other weapons on his person, so he simply squeezed until the goblin's spine cracked, then let the body strike the sands with a most satisfying thump.  Broose regarded the corpse for a few moments, then scratched his stomach as he remembered the time of day.

"Gigin's teeth," he muttered.  "I need breakfast."



-------

Nope.  She's about a hundred and thirty, putting her in her late twenties when she went to war.  Dwarven lifespan clocks out at between 150-170.  It seems to be a rather rare occurrence for dwarves to actually reach their life expectancy, so she's a pretty damned rare occurence. when she went into war and came out in one piece.

When I said no dwarves from before the zero date now live, I meant it.

[Lord Dullard]

Excellent storytelling! Glancing at your map, I do have to ask: how are you going to pump magma up the shaft? With screw pumps, as far as I know, you need a four-tile long space in which to operate (one floorless tile in the back to 'suck up' the magma, two for the pump itself, and one floored tile in front to deposit the magma in). Unless, that is, I'm missing some very obvious design element.

I'd like to request a dwarf when one is available:
Stug (Maggot), a dwarf who was babysnatched from the mountainhomes as a young child and raised in goblin society as a warrior-slave. After being captured in an attack on a dwarven outpost, he was then tossed into prison and forced into slave labor. He escaped during the riots caused by the seven founders, and has been wandering aimlessly ever since, unsure of what to do with his newfound freedom. Eventually he stumbled onto Olonkulet and tried to blend in, although his halting speech and strange behavior make him something of a social outcast. If possible, make him a recruit in the military; otherwise, assign him to whatever undesirable task you please.

[scuba]

when i reach legendary mining can i stat training as a wrestler then swordsdwarf...well after u get another miner. ......... what a shock that goblin got when he had to ge past the "other" dwarf.

[Keita]

Jora: Die goblin

Khain:KILL STEAL!

[Iituem]

23rd Granite, 353

Nearly the whole community had gathered in the cavernous chamber, a smooth dome of diorite.  The only absentee was the catatonic soaper, Dastot, entombed in restless slumber in his room.  In a slow procession Dodok's body, wrapped in white-dyed pipemoss cloth, was carried through the crowd to the waiting open sarcophagus by the militia members.  Ragna stood by the coffin as the highest ranking Onolite to perform the rites whilst Broose stood slightly behind her as her second, surveying the crowd.  On the opposite side, Emerin stood with her head bowed slightly in respect for the dwarf.  When the body had been placed into the casket, Ragna stepped forward to deliver the blessing of Onol the Tin Silver, calling for Him to take Dastot into His arms, for his soul to be reforged in Onol's realm as pure dwarven steel.  She offered condolences to those aggrieved that his spirit was in Onol's pure grasp now, that they should take comfort in knowing that he waits for them in the great beyond, his steel soul singing out from Onol's forge.

The sad truth was that Dastot had been a loner and, although on cordial terms with many, few would truly miss him.  His greatest companion had died before his eyes, only for him to journey forth behind it in swift pursuit.  Many were shaken by his death however, as thoughts of mortality crept upon their own minds and fear of the ancient dwarven enemy stole into their hearts.  In the moment's silence called upon by the rite, Emerin looked over the gathered crowd and saw the uncertainty in their faces.  She stepped behind the sarcophagus and addressed them.

"I see a lot of faces here.  A lot of hearts shaken.  I imagine most of you are thinking about the future right now.  I know I am.  What it might hold; if there will even be one.

"We all came here to get away from something.  The law.  The war.  The past.  We came looking for a new life, a new future.  I know many of you think you might have found it here.  Many of you believe that somehow, in this blasted and barren wasteland with not a tree in sight, you can forge a life for yourself.  A free life, a life to be proud of.

"Maybe you're not so certain about that now.  Maybe you want to keep running.  I don't blame you, believe me I understand.  You should remember, though, that you have friends here.  You have dwarves who'll look after you, who you can look after in turn.  Dwarves like the Captain, like Jora and Datan and Goden and Khain, who will be watching your back when the troubles come.  Dwarves like Karana, who will sit and listen and help you with your problems, who always makes time.  There is food and shelter and friendship here, and the trust of your brothers, may it be as strong as Onol's own steel.

"Those who want to go, you have my blessing to find your futures elsewhere.  For those who stay, I cannot promise what the future will hold.

"I can promise there will be one."

Eremin brought her gaze over the members of the crowd, letting the message sink in.  She nodded to the pallbearers, who knelt and picked up the heavy stone casket, proceeding down the steps with it to the small tomb below, where the small sarcophagus belonging to Dodok's dog Zan lay, surrounded by a multitude of tiny stone ular.  With heavy hands they sealed the stone door of the tomb and left Dodok forever in the hands of Onol.





--------

Will be a little while before I can get Stug into the story, m'lord.  Same for Ascubis' training request (though I'll endeavour to get it in there).

Also, regarding the vent:  That is what we in the industry call a design flaw, or more colloquially, a cock-up.  I somehow remembered that magma forges had to go over magma, but forgot they had to be on the z-level directly above them.  So much for the plan for a massive column of rising hot air.

There is actually an alternate design I could use, where magma is pumped in through a second tower to the top and allowed to fall down back into the vent, producing a rather spectacular magmafall.  I am reasonably certain this would also kill any dwarves not shielded from it by solid walls.

That does give me an excellent idea for a late-stage trap, though.

[scuba]

dont worry ascubis can wait

[Kel the Oblivious]

First, wonderful story.

Second, is there still an opening by any chance?

Kel Ragebrew: Brewer/Axedwarf/Herbalist

Born to a lowly farmer family, sent to a single jagged spire of stone rising from the heart of a  haunted marshland.

It would have never been thought of, but passing adventurers discovered rich veins of silver and gold there. Not wanting to miss a chance to line their pockets, nobles sent out Kel's family, along with some other workers.

His father, a humble farmer, who knew his way around a still and anything you could give him. His mother was a bit more martial, a guardian sent to handle anything that came from the swamps. He was left in his father's hands, as his mother was wise enough to not carry him into battle against the foul creatures of the marsh.

He learned a great deal about the swamps, the still, and the axe. When he became of age, he took up the axe and ventured into the swamp, picking the rare plants no one dared look for. He became quite proficent with the axe, killing the small undead and unnatural creatures.

From the plants, he brewed strange drinks. He tested them first on himself. Some of them were quite fine, others left him in bed for days at a time, wrecked with horrible nightmares and visions. This did not stop him from venturing back into the woods, harvesting anything he could. Others dared not sample his brew, but it sold for a good coin with the traders, almost as much as the silver trinkets they spat out.

His mind was gone, but he understood it, when the fortress was finally over run by the denizens of the swamps. He was prepared for it, and took with him a small copper still, his trusty bronze axe, and the cloths on his back. He managed to survive by picking plants along the way, fermenting some (By throwing them in the still and hauling it on his back till it got somewhat drinkable)




Well, that was fun, hope you like it. If you can't get a male, well, I dun mind, Kel is a common enough name.
 

[Iituem]

16th Slate, 353

Kulet trudged into the blockworks, bleary-eyed and fed up.  He signed off on the register slate and sat down at the little chalk bench designated as his own; at least for today.  Who knew what tomorrow might bring?  A day hauling barrels of fat, perhaps, or an exciting afternoon stacking these same gods-damned blocks into a wall.  He picked up his tools with a resigned motion and started chiselling out blocks from the lump of diorite hauled into his workstation with all the energy and enthusiasm of the living dead.  Somewhere around the twentieth job of mind-numbingly repetitious block carving, he noticed a little slate tucked under his bench and pulled it out to look at it.

"Make the change you want to happen," it read, signed with a K.  Kulet smirked, picked up his tools again and paused.  He stood up again, discarded his tools and left the blockworks in search of one of the old quarries.



"So what exactly is going on?" asked Emerin when she finally arrived on the scene.  Several of the blockworkers had abandoned their duties to gather around the workstation in question, but on seeing Emerin several of them guiltily headed back to their blockmaking.

"Apparently he just snapped," answered Danielle, who was checking through the block records.  "Said he wasn't making any more blocks, grabbed a boulder of tetrahedrite from the quarries and started working.  Been there since morning.  One of the blockmakers brought it to my attention when he didn't show up for breaktime - apparently this guy always shows up for breaktime."

"This sounds familiar," commented Emerin drily.  "What are we looking at here, then?"

"I'm not entirely sure.  I can see hinges, but there's a lot of sculpture going on here.  I guess we'll just have to come back in a few days and find out."



Four days later, Kulet put the finishing touches onto his masterpiece.  Functionally it was a cabinet, but he had sculpted it as a scale-model replica of the Mountainhomes, down to the defensive turrets, intimidating gates and tiny sculpted waterfalls.  He had even managed to scrounge a bit of scrap iron from the goblin attack and have it engraved with the legend; "The Frilly Jail", apparently a satirical reference to the former imprisonment there of many of the community's inhabitants.  He turned to address the crowd of dwarves who had gathered to view the finished work, mostly fellow blockmakers.

"I claim no dreams of prophecy," he said, "no divine inspiration in its making.  I need it not for Nish, the East Wanderer of Wheels, has made plain to us Her wishes in Her holy texts and in the works Her faithful have done over the centuries.  I built this cabinet in honour of Her and as a reminder to each of us that we are failing Her designs in this community.  Certainly there is trade, and was it not said that trade is the lifeblood of a grotto, of any settlement?  When Nish walked the world in the days of myth, did She not travel in search of trade to support Her barren homeland?  Did she not take up the cowl of a dark wanderer and journey East, always into the East, until the day She found the secret of wagoncraft and sails? 

"I say to you then that we must honour Her wishes and reap the benefits of Her blessing!  We must craft and spin and wright, not merely these functional things but art and beauty.  Let us seek Her blessing by building a shrine to Her, a shrine to Trade, let it be there that the wagons of the travellers and merchants are met, not in a rough shelter upon the river's stony bed!  Let us build a chapel in the name of Nish, and let Her hand guide us to magnificence and wealth as we unite in trade and crafts!  Praise be to Nish!"

"Praise be!" yelled a few members of the crowd, breaking into cheers and applause.  From the rear of the blockworks, Danielle and Emerin glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.



"So you've decided we'll be building a temple, have you?" asked Emerin flatly.  She rested her forearms on the smooth chalk desk and steepled her fingers.  Stood behind her, Danielle bore a similar expression.

"Not so much decided," said Kulet, gesturing off-handedly, "as exhorted.  I have encouraged people to address the lack of a Nishan shrine within the camp, especially given our reliance on trade here."  He smiled as endearingly as he could manage.  It was less than effective.

"You may have noticed," Emerin pointed out, "that we are already fully engaged on getting the metalworks running and excavating and smoothing out the burial chamber.  What makes you think we can convince people to take up yet another construction project?"

"Well, I'm not saying people should do it for free."

"You propose we should foot the bill, then?"

"Not at all.  That would hardly be the Nishan way, would it?  Between now and when I made that speech, I made a number of calls on Nishans within the camp.  We're all willing to donate time, materials and firecaps towards making this happen.  Nearly seven hundred firecaps' worth of funds have been gathered.  We will pay for the temple to be built."  Kulet smiled winsomely and Emerin glanced back to Danielle.  The savant examined one of her notebooks and shook her head.

"That will pay for slightly less than a quarter of the work that needs to be done," she calculated.  "Where will you get the rest of the firecaps from?"

"In time, Nish will provide," said Kulet faithfully.  "What is important is to start now.  Or would you prefer to risk the wrath of the East Wanderer?  To have our trade routes blighted, our supplies of fresh ale and food cut off?  The Nishans are a substantial number in this camp, Emerin, even if we are not so outspoken as the Nakasians.  Is it not the purpose of government to reflect the will of the people?"

Emerin regarded him coolly.

"Not," she remarked, "according to what I've heard most nobles say.  Perhaps it should, but I would say that the responsibility of government is not to be swayed by the words of an influential few."  She raised a hand as Kulet began to protest.  "That is not to say your words do not have merit.  We would be foolish indeed not to give Nish Her due, especially now that the matter has been invoked."  She sighed and leant back into her stone chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"You will have your temple, and the camp's coffers will meet sixty percent of the bill.  As you have said, Nish and Her faithful can provide the rest.  I am sure that will inspire a great sense of patriotism amongst your flock.  Now, if there is nothing else, do not let me detain you further."

Kulet smiled and prepared to offer his thanks when he noticed the way Emerin was looking at him.  Wisely, he chose to instead nod graciously to them both and left with due speed.  Danielle raised an eyebrow at Emerin, who shrugged.

"He's right," she said.  "It's a political game now, and we would be very foolish indeed to risk the wrath of Nish... or Her cult.  Can we make the bill?"  Danielle frowned, sorting through the math in her head.  She nodded.

"We'll have to hold back work on the burial site, but yes.  I'll send for Fath to talk with Kulet about the designs."

"Very well then.  Make it so."



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