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[dragnar]

160. cyberpunk.

[Imp]

115

If you can put your tower out of mind for two seconds...?"

Imp stares off into space, her mouth working slowly.  "Dance all day.  My calling and all the stars become my gems," and other similar odd mumbles ooze slowly from her slack lips.  After a few moments it's clear that Imp cant put the tower out of her mind for so very long, so she won't be able to help choose the next page this time.

[Zifnab]

181 spinning disks of doom

[TALLPANZER]

148, STEEL WEAPONS AND ARMOR!

[carpfishmantis]

181, military is for elves.

[melkorp]

dude your avatar is beautiful

[Spartan 117]

181. But steampunk traps.

[OneMoreNameless]

181

Fourguts jots notes and makes several calculations as you describe your plan for expanding the trapped entranceway. His face turns to concern as you describe your trade agreement, and he excuses himself to find the liaison shortly after. As he hurriedly turns away you catch a glimpse of a something hanging out of his pockets: the back end of a toy mouse, thread tail swinging in the air.
    Metal production begins slowly. Although you have plenty of coke ready, there are very few dwarves with any skill in smelting or metalcrafting and most of those seem to be busy elsewhere. You check back several times before even finding your half a dozen extra picks and second anvil ready, let alone any stockpiled iron trap components. After a week or so you give up and lend your hand to finishing of the Gem Tower's walls; when those are finished you will have idle dwarves a plenty.
    Finally the day arrives: the glorious Gem Tower is complete! The olivine walls cast an ominous shadow over the mountains and stretch towards the sky for all to admire. Yet, it is but a hollow structure. There is furniture and a glass dome to install before your gems can be homed at the pinnacle. The former, at least, you can continue now. You spread the good news as you carry the first table into place, encouraging workers, poking stark raving mad farmers and irritably informing several dwarves that, despite what they may have heard in college, partying is not an actual job.
    "Oh verily, we do say we are most too posh for 'parties' now. Dear no, we attend 'social functions'," Foureyes grins, swilling her fresh glass of strawberry wine with a deep laugh. "Incidentally, it would be dreadfully imprudent for us to be seen wallowing in muddied water, no matter how dire the cause or delightfully expensive the delicacies being lost. Hypothetically."
    You're dashing towards the kitchens before she even closes her mouth. Panicked cries rise from downstairs. You leap three steps at a time and land knee-deep in water. It flows from the food stockpiles, and you can see more gushing freely from a break into the aquifer. Incredibly, nearly a dozen dwarves stand around watching or - at best - guzzling their precious booze rather than trying to save anything.
    You take command immediately, roaring at an idle dwarf to fetch a door. You can still catch the leak at the corridor. Barrels are grabbed and hauled upstairs. Water rushes out and rises to your chest as you push towards the food. A door arrives, but too late; no choice but to abandon the floor. You yell for hatches to block the mines, at the very least.
    "Hey!" a dwarf faintly yells, several times, from upstairs.  "I think there's damp stone up here! I'm going to stop digging!"
    Once you've finished swearing at him, darker thoughts cross your mind. This could have been a mistake. A novice miner slipping with his pick, or a thoughtless mass designation. Or sabotage. But who would willingly try to starve themselves? No, because you're already short on dwarves for the work that needs to be done. A little unrelated chaos and suddenly everything collapses. Projects get conveniently set aside. Dwarves are still fed but the Gem Tower remains empty. Never.
    You slam the hatch shut and stick up a note forbidding the use of everything still downstairs. Between you and the other dwarves you saved roughly a third of the stockpile. After considering the extra supplies tucked away in the party room and Gem Tower, half of your total food and drink remain. Since your farm was fully sealable for controlled flooding, it can be still be used once a new tunnel is dug. The outside farm is flourishing. You WILL be able to move in to the Tower by the end of the week. Well, you might have the drag the crossbower up. The second-wavers can have your old-
    "An ambush!  Curse them!"
    It surprises you that that doesn't surprise you.
    Panic erupts in the fortress. You and Fourguts run through the hallways, yelling orders at the top of your lungs. The chaotic swarming turns to chaotic stampeding as every dwarf drops their work and clambers for the 'free booze and strippers' in the party room. You even glimpse somebody rolling the frozen crossbower into place.
    "Wait, we don't have an economy yet, isn't it meaningless to say that they're-"
    "Just get in there!" Fourguts yells, kicking the mechanic inside and checking their name off his list. "We're still missing Othsinvucar and Altharkim!"
    A pained scream echoes through the fortress. Faint goblin war cries taunt you. Tiny impacts of bolts clink off the outside stone.
    "I think that was Othsinvucar, did anybody else recognise ...?"
    A gargled yell of horror and dusty thump sounded from outside. Then a slow, strangled bark. Then three fading mooooooaaarghtheyshotmebitchs.
    "Never mind," Fourguts muttered. He tosses the list aside. You hush the crowd of dwarves and press your ear against one of the doors. At first, you hear nothing. Then a shinnck is followed by a tortured goblin scream. Whispers.
    "Our fortunes rise and fall together!" the liaison farewells out of nowhere. Ignoring your hissed protests, he strolls out of the room whistling. A few seconds later you hear an elfy scream and he charges back inside, locking the door behind him. "I, uh, I don't need to be back for another week or two."
    Shinnck. Nothing. Shinnck. Shinnck. No dice. Shinnck-shinnck-shinnck thunk and an angry goblin ranting as a cage trap falls into place. Goblin laughter. Shinnck. Goblin moans. Silence.
    Eventually you dare to lead the dwarves back outside. While they rush to claim the invader's possessions, you hang back and stare at the blood stains over your entrance. First suspicious disasters within, and now the goblins make their attack barely after the Gem Tower humbles them. This is no coincidence. You have no more time. You can spare no more labourers. The dome would never be more than decoration for the true prize. Your gems must come to their true beauty - their true power! - now.
    There is ... just one little matter to take care of first.



If you throw the prisoner into the execution chamber, turn to page 97.
If you feed the prisoner to your crocodiles, turn to page 182.
If you drop the prisoner into your flooded kitchens, turn to page 164.
If you build a catapult range, organise gabbro stockpiles and train a siege operator for the singular purpose of watching him dance, boy, turn to page 143.
If you inform Foureyes of a delightful new dining room piece, turn to page 195.

[OneMoreNameless]

Bonus pic, because it's too amusing not to share and I love this new body system:



She lay bleeding for a dorf day or so before dying. Is there truly another method of dispatching foes bearing a similar disposition to the much proclaimed overkill? It is my personal suspicion that this is not necessarily the case!

[derekiv]

143
For teh win.

[LordSlowpoke]

195, because we can.

[dragnar]

143
For teh win.

[OneMoreNameless]

143

"Sorry, I'm busy stockpiling right now."
    "I need to store this item in a bin first."
    "Less talkin' more lootin'!"
    You wring your hands and storm back inside, surrendering to chiselling the coffins yourself. The eager dwarves running back and forth continue to pay no heed to you OR their dead companions, intent only on grabbing a handful of whatever abandoned equipment they can.
    "Eh, Othsinvucar was actually kind of dick," a metalsmith explains with an apologetic shrug. "So anyway, we're out of iron for trap weapons and running low on coke."
    You order the metalsmith to continue forging the components with whatever metals are available - with ten weapons crammed into one trap, well, the goblin crossbowers are unliving proof that anything will suffice. As for the coke you'll dedicate the furnaces for a while to only producing a good build up.
    "Cool. I'm idle right now so if there's anything I can do for ... for ... OH GOD LEATHER, I NEED LEATHER!" The metalsmith lets out a startled scream as his eyes glaze over, then he runs away furiously. You follow him at a distance to the workshops, pushing aside the dehydrated corpse of the last moody farmer as you go.
    The dwarven corpses are eventually retrieved, although not before they and the goblins start to rot. The choking miasma barely slows the scavengers and it doesn't seem to bother them at all - so far as you can tell, no dwarves living in your fortress have ever been unhappy. It must be the joy of your gems. Their rising is so close you can smell it. But the fool who dared come to stop you must be punished first: the captured goblin maceman, leader of the squad.
    You draw up and distribute plans of the new catapult range to your masons. It will be five by twenty large with the catapult protected behind fortification, all built above ground. The goblin will be released via a remote lever and have nowhere to run. For stone you'll utilise what Fourguts has dubbed a 'quantum stockpile' of rocks piled unstably high. Let the goblin's blood serve as the first sacrifice for your nearby Gem Tower.
    You forbid the dwarves from the remaining items outside and work begins. The walls are constructed speedily and there are no shortage of idle dwarves to prepare the stone. The finishing touches become more difficult to complete when a pack of rhesus macaques begin curiously approaching and teasing almost every dwarf above ground. Even one engraver who didn't so much as flinch while she gave birth was interrupted from planting by the monkeys. Their harassment continues unabated for over a week before they finally clear off and only that after four of them are skewered by your traps.
    "Did you hear about the latest artefact?" Foureyes gossips over a finely-prepared shad roast. You shake your head. "It was a copper chain. I mean, what kind of weirdo spirit goes to effort of borrowing a body just for that?"
    You agree and wonder what use you could find for it. A new well, perhaps, since your last remains sunk. But that is a decision for another time. The catapult range is complete and tested. You order the siege weapon readied and stroll outside to watch the goblin in person. He has given up struggling in his chains, and stares ahead blankly. You're told he has grown attached to his shield while in captivity - he'll certainly need it.
    "Don't!" the goblin screams as he he sees your movement behind the fortifications. You sneer out at him, but hold your hand still. "Whatever it is you think you need to do, you have to stop it! I was in their thrall too, once. They made me do terrible things. But then you came. You, the digger who could free them. YOU CAN'T DO THIS OR WE'RE ALL-"
    You pull the lever to release him and give the order to fire.
    The siege operator takes one look at the free goblin, screams at the top of his lungs, and runs back into the fortress crying. For a moment you stare in shock. Then a second dwarf repeats the trick and your palm reaches your face faster than an elf and a cave-in reach a trade agreement.
    "Aye leader, thar be migrants on the horAAAAAAHHH!" A third dwarf scuttles downstairs. You flick the catapult off with a scathing look at nobody in particular. The sound of distant footsteps reaches your ears and you clamber atop the stone pile. Down the mountain you can make out nearly another two dozen dwarves approaching with half again as many animals. Some stop and point at the Gem Tower, mouthing to themselves. Nearly another two dozen traitors just waiting for the chance to steal your gems. You have to keep them away. Let them work the farm outside or build it protective walls. Or fish, while they still can.
    It's time. The Gem Tower awaits.

You stand alone on the highest level of the Gem Tower. Strong winds rush through your beard and curl your toes. You can see almost everything from up here. It's disgusting. Only the star sapphire brings a warped smile to your face. It was the first gem you found, beckoning you from the mountainside what must have been years ago now. You didn't really see its beauty then, or feel its power. Only now ...
    You laugh wildly and slot the sapphire into place at the very centre of the Tower. The sky crackles in response and moments later frigid rain is battering your soaked body. You wipe shaggy hair out of your eyes and stride towards the stairway. Ninety nine more to go.
    "Stop."
    You snap your head up and stare at the resolute figure before you. A pang of hurt flickers through your stomach as you recognise the face. Fourguts.
    "You're mad. For the sake of this fortress, I won't let you touch another gem," Fourguts swears. You laugh and mock him, stepping slowly forward. Fourguts doesn't back away. You're all too aware of the iron battleaxe by his side. But nothing will stop you now.
    "You're a fool, too, if you think I won't do it," Fourguts comments snidely, drawing the weapon. You tense your legs and ready to charge. Desperately, you plead for him to understand your goal. The whole world must revere the raw beauty of the gems in their natural environment. The darkness.
    You clench your fists and run at Fourguts. He reluctantly raises the axe. You let out a scream and reach for his throat. A cinnamon blur passes between you. Your feet suddenly catch and you crash forward, too late to catch yourself. Your head rolls off fur a moment before it can crack into the olivine floor.
    "Sleep," Fourguts whispers, pressing a foul-smelling cloth to y



Turn to page 200.

[OneMoreNameless]

200

You wake to hunger. Your stomach growls as if it's been empty for days. Your eyes are gummed up and still seeing stars. They fade to comforting dimness. You're staring at an olivine floor, but a natural one. To your side is a wooden bed and before you gabbro bars.
    You are in newly dug cell, shallow within the mines. Occasionally miners or haulers pass by outside your prison. None of them dare to glance at you. You don't bother yelling. A lever stands tantalisingly out of reach, no matter how hard you stretch. You claw at your walls to pass time but unarmed make not meaningful progress.
    Eventually Fourguts approaches your cell. He looks tired and, for the first time in your fortress, unhappy.
    "This is necessary," Fourguts speaks bluntly. He tosses you a rhesus macaque tallow roast. You snatch it from the floor and eat without hesitation. You're past shame. "You will remain here until I can be sure the gems are no longer manipulating you."
    You open your mouth to protest, but Fourguts cuts you off.
    "You led us directly to this mountain and for all I know sabotaged our wagon here. You have taken dangerous risks while digging, and killed kittens even before realising one would be an adversary to the gems," Fourguts lists firmly. "I do not know the extent of their manipulation. Therefore, I can take nothing you say at face value. There is only one logical endgame: destroy the entire stockpile."
    You angrily grab the bars, shaking futilely them and trying to threaten, bargain - anything - with Fourguts. He only shakes his head.
    "Consider majority control evoked," Fourguts finishes coldly. "When you feel a cave-in, you'll know it's over." Without saying goodbye, Fourguts turns and paces away.
    Laid back on your bed, you stare at the ceiling. Time passes. Suddenly inspiration hits you; if you deconstruct the bed, you can use the wood to reach the lever! You leap up and pull away the covers. Then you see the bolts nailing it down. You sag and turn away to-
   "Heya!" Foureyes exclaims. You jump back with a start. Foureyes giggles, her face hovering next to your bars. "Do you like the olivine? That was my idea."
    You shakily greet Foureyes, then ask how your fortress is going.
    "Let's put it this way," Foureyes considers with a laugh. "On a scale of one to 'this is actually purgatory', we're somewhere around 'half a dozen dwarves were killed in a goblin ambush'.
    You frown and ask for details.
    "N- nobody who mattered." Foureyes clears her throat. "Well, the new migrants arrived while you were up the tower, right? They were given work pretty quickly. Mining, smelting, partying, you know. There were still free hands so somebody decided to build walls around the outside farm. The only way in now is through a tunnel or by flying. I don't think goblins have wings? Anyway.
    So they've just finished and they're helping gather herbs. Then the elf merchants appear on the mountain. Then the elf merchants explode. Blood and limbs roll everywhere. Just like the elves to go off early, am I right? Their performance really went downhill after that. Seriously though, it was goblins.
    And oh my god you won't believe this, but I was the first dwarf they attacked! One moment I'm bringing back raw fish, the next ZOOM I'm racing eastwards with this herbalist. The goblins gave chase. We head towards the fortress entrance. Then a second squad with crossbows jumps out of nowhere. Zip, zip, zip, bolts go flying. The herbalist is dead within seconds and I'm fleeing alone and uphill.
    I'm running, but just getting further away from safety and the goblins keep shooting. One bolt tears my lower body wide open. I'm bleeding like crazy and feeling faint. I keep running and manage to lose a few goblins. Then another bolt cuts open my hand. My body was sexily pale, but kind of in a bad way.
    I hit the top of the mountains and thought I'd lost them all. Then this crazy dedicated axe-goblin charges me. I can barely stagger away. He raises his weapon. I trip and fall helpless. He leaps and attacks me and then, then I died!"
    You raise an eyebrow sceptically.
    "I got better!" Foureyes asserts with a pout. "Anyway, most dwarves made it to safety. The goblins wiped themselves out on the traps. Two are in cages: one who dodged the spears, and one who spent two weeks or so slowly rolling over them while cutting open every single finger, toe, facial feature and HIS THROAT without being fazed. Nobody's been game to touch his cage yet, heh."
    Then Foureyes' smile fades. "We weren't so lucky. One bleeding dwarf dragged himself away from the goblins, into the fortress and all the way down to the hospital before dying on the bed. The blood trail was left out of respect."
    You pause to take in the disaster. Then a slightly opportunistic idea occurs to you.
    "Oh yeah," Foureyes replies, perking up. "Half of the dwarves are hauling back the elves' booze and wood now. That's not even the best part. They were carrying sixty animals, all of them tamed, most of them dangerous and one of them a tigerman surgeon. Apparently. Guess what Fourguts plans for the next ambush."
    Despite everything, you grin. Then a miner rushes past Foureyes, eyes firmly ahead, and it fades. You open your mouth carefully, but to your surprise Foureyes bursts out her own request first.
    "I don't want anyone else to die, so please," Foureyes pleads with uncharacteristic sincerity. "I know you're still a little weird with this whole gem thing. But you've always been the first dwarf to jump in and protect us! Even when Fourguts was caught up in details, or I was scared and clutching at distractions and I am so sorry that I didn't help you more before ... Now, tell me what I need to do to keep all these dwarves safe."



If you suggest training a military to fight invaders, turn to page 205.
If you suggest constructing longer walls down to the river, turn to page 13.
If you suggest mining emergency tunnels over the mountain, turn to page 218.
If you suggest sealing off the entire fortress from the outside, turn to page 159.
If you suggest just letting ninja cat deal with it, turn to page 213.

[dragnar]

213

The only possible option.