Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[OneMoreNameless]

33

You take a deep breath and swing your pick towards the damp wall. Crash! The moist stone crumbles harmlessly around your feet. You reach out and touch the earth behind it: still wet. With a shrug, you pick up the seventh verse of 'Those elves do quiver' and continue dig-
    Drip. Trickle.
    WHOOOOOOSH!
    You let out a gargled scream and tear back down the tunnel. Water rushes out from the aquifer behind you. You dart into your future farm and yell for help. The water surges worryingly close to the exit. You hurriedly reach for the door that leads to the stairs. Then suddenly, the door bursts off its hinges altogether!
    "More hauling," Foureyes sulks as she slams the door back down in front of the tunnel. Water batters the hematite frame, but it holds tight. "This is booooooring."
    You thank Foureyes for the save. She shrugs it off and pulls a piece of lobster out of pocket to snack on.
    "Oh yeah, Fourguts says we only have one lobster left," Foureyes reports uninterestedly. She smacks her lips and continues, "Well."
    Once you have calmed down you decide to visit Fourguts in his office. The dwarf barely registers your arrival. He scribbles intently and glances across to the storeroom every so often. You briefly talk about traps, levers, and the neccesity of him getting his {*large derriere*} back to the finishing thereof. Only then do you notice a log for a bismuth bronze crossbow, pig tail fiber quiver and thirty two copper bolts.
    It seems the crossbower was armed upon arrival after all. With the farm's construction at a standstill - Foureyes helpfully insisting that 'Mud is left by water.' - you search the fortress for the three parts. Two are found in stockpiles and the bolts are at last located on the ground outside. It takes some talking before the crossbower is convinced they are really his to use. Eventually, though, the crossbower swaggers outside in hunt of a mountain goat.
    Now that most of the hauling work is out of the way, the wood cutter also leaves to start fishing. All that is left to complete are the levers and mechanisms to work your farm and defences. Fourguts is busy fiddling with these now, so you order your idle dwarves to begin producing wooden spikes and more stone furniture. At this rate you should be comfortable and secure within days! Cheerily, you begin clearing further storage space when ...
    "Are those footsteps?" Fourguts asks with a frown. You cock your ears and freeze. Stomping, crushing boots. Over a dozen padded feet. Snippets of mad war cries. It can't be. Not yet.
    "Mmmmmmiiigrants!" Foureyes announces happily. She rushes outside to greet them and you are left stunned and surrounded by rubble. How in the world are you going to cope with another seven or more dwarves already?



If you put the migrants to work expanding the fortress, turn to page 58.
If you treat the migrants as slaves to feed and beautify your home, turn to page 22.
If you let migrants in, but only after killing their own kittens just on principle, turn to page 59.
If you file the migrants away in your new storeroom and more or less forget about them, turn to page 77.
If you slam and lock the front door, turn to page 100.

[Jim Groovester]

I don't see how page 58 and page 22 are any different.

[OneMoreNameless]

I don't see how page 58 and page 22 are any different.

58 = Migrants are ordered to dig, construct doors, work on mechanics etc.
22 = Migrants are ordered to engrave existing walls, construct statues, forage etc.
Plus the thematic difference, naturally.

[LordSlowpoke]

Ah, screw the gems then. 59, but remember to butcher their corpses.

[Zifnab]

Can we still treat them as expendable slaves after killing their kittens?  59

[Spartan 117]

59

[TALLPANZER]

59, them's good eat'n

[OneMoreNameless]

59

The migrants are, to say the least, less than impressed with your ultimatum. The owners refuse to have their pets butchered and the others refuse to wait. You attempt to threaten the group, but they only laugh off your highly visible traps, enquire as to the whereabouts of your crossbower and remind you that they could technically take majority control from you and King's dwarves. Fuming, you have no choice but to stand aside and allow them entrance.
    As the migrants pass you reluctantly note the skills of each and designate them tasks. The carpenter, wood cutter, fisher and herbalist are granted their original jobs. You direct two craftsdwarves and one peasant towards the more useful grunt work of churning out mechanisms, building doors and gathering plants. The last migrant is a farmer who agrees to take over the doctor's mining until muddy ground is prepared. You refuse to give them any bedrooms out of spite, but do start to dig out a deeper dormitory while fantasising kitten skewers.
    For a while time passes surprisingly peacefully - the worst you have to put up with is expanding the refuse pile while it's full. Despite having over twice as many mouths to feed, the food crisis is narrowly averted. Fishes are being caught regularly and wild berries are found plentiful. Your crossbower does eventually return with his first kill and manages several more before switching to weaker makeshift bolts. You even see the doctor cooking up a lavish meal on one occasion.
    The farm, however, proves more difficult to manage. Fourguts connects the aquifer-blocking door to a lever easily enough, and before long you are watching water flow over the dry soil and down into your well. The problem comes when not one single dwarf offers to begin seeding. You take a break from installing menacing wooden spikes to investigate. With Foureyes' persuasion, the migrant farmer finally confesses to knowing nothing more than dyeing and burning wood. You order them to farm anyway, but the migrant only stands idly by a barrel of ale.
    "What?" the migrant asks after several minutes of hard staring. "YOU forbid us from entering the room weeks ago, duh."
    "Technicalities, shmechnicalities," Foureyes shrugs with a wink at you. She tosses the migrant a key and shoos him away. The migrant doesn't move.
    "But there's a rock in the way," the migrant states obviously. Foureyes glances at you and puts her hands on her hips.
    "Sweetie, if you don't move right now there's going to be one up your-"
    Autumn rolls around and work on the fortress continues. You dig out several more expansions for workshops and storage. The wood from your wrecked ship is gradually replaced with wood cut from the forest downhill. Mechanisms are tinkered with in considerable quantities. Sickies are chucked by sleeping in hospital beds. Ominous blood stains are found smeared around the well. All in a day's digging.
    Could things finally be looking up for your dreams again? It has been a long time without any signs of stirring from the goblin tower, but they are never far from your mind. Even if they do attack, your fortress is ready. Traps are set, doors are installed, and your kitchens have somehow become cluttered from prepared food that won't fit in your stockpiles.
    "You didn't tell them to stop," Fourguts comments flatly, eyeing the full barrels of fish. It's a point you're happy to concede. Even your manpower has further increased - another seven dwarves appeared in search of treasure, all of whom eagerly went to work for the promise of a share in yours. And the best news? A little project of Fourguts' that is finally complete.
    "I demand to know the reason that this storeroom has been made my burrow!" one of the first migrants complains. "And why in Armok's name is it half filled with spears?"
    "To give them a fair chance," Fourguts smiles wanly. The migrant raises an eyebrow, but his face brightens as an adorable cinnamon cat stalks into sight.
    "Aww, has Fathywathy come for some kiddenly cuddletimes? I think he has. I think he has!" the migrant cooed. You cough and jerk your head. Fourguts nods and leads the migrant back out of the room. You quickly lock the door behind them and give the okay symbol to Foureyes. The migrant complains to Fourguts for a while longer, and then ...
    Screeeooow!
    "What was that?" the migrant asks. You pat them on the back assuredly and they wander off confused. Once they're out of sight Fourguts drops his smile and confronts you.
    "You know, the new migrants are already pestering me about those gems," Fourguts informs testily. "We're fed, and your kittens are grown and killed. When exactly did you plan on dealing with this?"



If you use the gems to beautify your fortress, turn to page 107.
If you use the gems in the production of trade goods, turn to page 134.
If you hoard your preciouses and mine in search of more, turn to page 88.
If you refuse to dig the gems out and force the migrants to FIGHT for their untarnished beauty, turn to page 140.

[Zifnab]

They are all mine.  88

[TALLPANZER]

107. and then find more

[OneMoreNameless]

88

"I didn't expect it to be this large," Foureyes admits, staring down in awe. "Wow, and it's so hard and shiny on top. Ooh, give it to me rough."
    You roll your eyes and casually toss the hugely expensive diamond onto the dirty floor to be hauled away by some unfamiliar dwarf later. You kick the rest of the stone aside and frown at the ugly gap in your otherwise neat fortress walls. Foureyes pouts when you don't react to her.
    "Anyway, the mechanics thought you should know that they're ready to replace their stone traps with your 'spear spam' design," Foureyes informs. You give her the go-ahead and starting walking to the next gem cluster.
    Before long though, your dig is interrupted by the arrival of the King's liaison and resupplies. The impatient caravan driver scoffs at your thin entrance and turn away, but several independent merchants carefully tiptoe around your traps. They spy your gems immediately, but you firmly inform them they aren't for trade. Miffed, the merchants refuse your first offer - a good quantity of cooked food and several spare mechanisms for two horses, some cloth and small miscellaneous supplies. You return the cloth and offer again. They refuse without explanation.
    "Look, will you just give us the meatsa-"
    "Pretty horsies!" Foureyes cuts in, glaring at Fourguts. The merchants sigh dramatically and finally accept the offer. Once the trade is done you consider who to appoint as official broker for next time. Fourguts suggests a dwarf with good social skills such as negotiation or lying. You immediately nominate the 'farmer' from the first migrant wave.
    By the time winter comes, your hoard of gems has grown large. But never large enough. You give two herbalists the job of cutting your current stockpile, then grab your pick and head downstairs. North of the refuse pile seems like a good enough place to start. You and a dwarf from the second wave of migrants dig in a tight crisscross pattern. You strike platinum almost immediately - shiny and stabby! - then an ore of nickle. It's a long while before you find black zircon, but after that gems are found more regularly.
    Fourguts takes a break from updating his fortress records to update you whenever you come up for a drink: a second-wave migrant was possessed while you were absent. They claimed the craftdwarf's workshop and began construction before anyone even noticed. Later they emerged with an iron statue of a wandering lizard devil which hasn't been seen since. Your doctor also met with the liaison and learned that the King is desperate for battleaxes and earrings. Apparently his army isn't feeling pretty enough to fight well?
    Surprisingly, the most worrying tale came from Foureyes. She had lured a second cat into your execution chamber and shooed the owner away, then gone to pull the lever. The cat managed to barely dodge the spikes, then stood perfectly still between two of them for several hours before Foureyes bored and stopped the traps. When she went to check on the cat the pet flap was still locked but the animal was already gone.
    Moments later the construction of a new kitchen was suspended because a creature was in the way. It seems you have nothing short of a potentially vindictive ninja cat on your hands.
    When the coldest days of winter are over, you emerge again from your dank tunnels. Fourguts is already waiting for you. You lean on your pick and ask how your gem shrine is going.
    "Well, you have seventy eight cut gems, a goblin snatcher has been lurking by the river and scaring the fishers for over a week, and the forest to the southeast doesn't strictly speaking exist any more," Fourguts summarises.
    Seventy eight. Seventy eight?! Argh, if only there was a way to get that up to an even eighty! There must be some gems you could ...
    "Did you even hear what I just said?" Fourguts asks sceptically.
    Yes, of course. Wait that would ... but the shinies ... you ... eeeeee!



To resist the gem's unnatural allure, roll a six-sided die.
If you roll 1 <-> 3, turn to page 76.
If you roll 4 <-> 6, turn to page 98.
If GUYS there are more important things to worry about here ... ninja cats, turn to page 105.

[OneMoreNameless]

A CHALLENGER APPEARS

c

Ninja Cat; kind of fat,
Still kicks your arse right off the bat.
Wears cravats, foils attacks,
Knows where all the best pussies at.

But watch out for his rival - dastardly Pirate Dog.
If you bank on survival - best fetch his scratching log!
(Bwah-ha-hark, I'm going to destroy the fortress!)
(Not on my watch, Pirate Dog.)
(Ninja Cat?! Where did you come from?)

Ninja Cat, here's a fact:
He's keeps the whole fooortresss in-taaaaaact!
Meeeooow!

...

Best. Spin-off. Ever.

[Neyvn]

Ninja cat please... He might steal the prettys...

[Iituem]

105 - Ninja Cat!

[Spartan 117]

105