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[Iituem]

Although I do plan to eventually go back to finishing Olonkulet (having at long last found the save again), I can't take advantage of DF2010 with that fortress.  So this seemed like a good time to give our old favourite psychotic greenskins another go (that or try playing psychotic tree-huggers: maybe next time?).


I have a site picked out for a starting point.  I can promise ice.  Lots of ice.  Before we get there, though, there will be the usual 7 starting characters.  As with Hateslaughter, at least 2 will start off free and the remainder will be slaves.  Unlike Hateslaughter, I'd rather like to have these characters a little more established before we start (and they needn't necessarily remain slaves).

As an interesting aside, the Civilisation from which these goblins will hail is known as the Aching Seductions and is ruled by Sheget Wanderbreached, a noseless firebreathing llama, twisted into humanoid form.


If you would like a goblin, please pick one of the critters below and give it some personality and a bit of backstory (which will be elaborated into an official backstory, probably over the next couple of days before the fort starts).  You really want to read the short backstory summary beforehand.  Preferably first-come, first-serve, after which space will be saved for migrants.  Also, votes on a name for your motley crew are welcome as well.


Goblins with an (A) are available for adoption.

The Original Party

Spoiler: Skrunge (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Uzulek (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Ozo (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Dostgnosp (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Goxa (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Kiku (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Zom Halfear (click to show/hide)

The First Wave

Spoiler: Ago (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Yilmug (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Xuspgas (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Damsto Ghoulfliers (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Damsto Spiderallies (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Usbu (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Nako (A) (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Ogini Ayotnom (click to show/hide)

The End

It was a time of prophecy, a time held by the ancient scrolls to come again and again.  The ground split and demons walked free upon the land.  Army fought army and god fought god, desperate in their bids to save, attain or destroy the divine.  None remember the day the war ended, save the gods themselves, and they have remained silent on the truth.  What is known is that four races emerged from the conflict.  Those whose gods won their battles and rose high, whose people claimed the plains and bright places of the world and grew tall.  Those whose gods lost their battles and slunk into the depths, whose people hide in the dark places of the world and are stunted.  Those who slew their gods and drank their blood, and frolic with abandon and bloodlust in the wild places of the world.  And those who took no side in the war but their own, who sided not with the gods nor against them, and were cursed to be abandoned by all.

You are such creatures, goblin-kin.  But not all of you were always so.  Some who are goblin now were human once, or dwarf, or elf.  Some were kobold, or gremlin, or even mighty titans who hid from the chaos of the falling world.  And some were those goblins who had lived through a cycle of the world and hid once again, preferring to hide and be cursed forever in their twisted form than suffer the risk of death in the Last War.

Though none remember the day the world was made, the newly remade races banded together for protection, flocking to their chosen places.  A new world was born, and fifty years have passed since then.  Another thousand years may yet pass before the Last War comes again.  Assuming, of course, that the cycle goes on...

[Iituem]

Restrictions on Embark

The good news is that we basically have nearly 900 points to spend on equipment.  The really good news is that trolls only cost a point each.  We can also buy any colour of sand we want at a point per bag as well. 

The bad news is that goblins don't farm.  Period.  Technically I did reactivate planting in the labours menu because I can't access butchering or tanning otherwise, but I'm laying that one as a flat rule now.  No farming, only hunting and gathering.  To reflect this, there is neither seed nor plant nor (sob!) beer in the embark menu.  This could be a problem, since there isn't a running water source in this region either.

The worse news is that this goes double for wood.  Wood is not available to buy on embark.  The only wood we will have at the start is the wagon wood, and most of that's going toward beds for the free goblins.  And it's a glacier, so good luck finding any to cut.


Any questions?

[Flaede]

can goblins drink blood, now that blood can be traded in barrels?

[Iituem]

As awesome as that would be, I have not yet seen any evidence that this is the case.  The raws do seem to indicate they can still eat bones, though, so at least gnawing on skeletal remains is still on the cards.

[TALLPANZER]

I would like Goblin 1. Please name him Skrunge. He is a professional scavenger, one that has picked through the caves of this world since it was made, or at least that is what he remembers. He is good at dragging things, finding things, and clubbing things. Also he is a slave, but that's not really bad, his father was a slave. Skrunge likes to find neat things for his masters, and will explore deep cave to find them things. One day he hope he can be a bone carver.

[Zathel]

Goblin no.3 Make him a builder of some sort (Mason most likely, since we probably won't be getting any wood until we hit the caverns) or weaponsmith/armorer. Name: Ozo. Slave/master doesn't matter really. Edit: Because all that really matters is the items he makes. Only this, and nothing else, as long as it doesn't stop him or hinder him from making some more. After they are made, hey, it's on to another one.

[Iituem]

Skrunge Osmospslonan, Scavenger

Skrunge stood on the edge of the world and looked out.  Naught remained of the land he had once known, taken now by fire and shadow.  Where once great cities had stood, green fields now rolled.  Forests grew where seas had once lain, and the mountains had become valleys and deserts.  Of his people, he alone had survived.

He stared at the tattered violet rags clinging to his shoulders, trying to remember some of what they meant.  The memory hurt, and his eyes wandered instead to a half-buried knife, stuck in the ground.  Feeling the need for a weapon, he sank to his knees and started scrabbling at the dirt.  For a moment he felt revulsion at the act, at lowering himself to this, but a part of him thought; Why feel regret?  This is what my kind do, isn't it?  My kind... who are my kind?




Skrunge stood on the edge of the world and looked out.  It had been a year now.  It had been a year, hadn't it?  Yes.  Yes, the trees were green again, the sun was back in its rightful place.  He could feel it on his bare chest, across his arms and legs and even through the loincloth of rabbit pelts he wore.  He tried to remember that first day, but the images came back hazy.  He had been smaller then, hadn't he?  His skin pinker.  He scratched at the wisps of hair still clinging to his chin and vaguely remembered that he had once had a beard.  Yes, a beard!  Long, and flowing, the envy of... of who?

Skrunge shook his head and sat down on a rock, pulling up to him the bundle of possessions he dragged every place he went.  Tied together with shreds of violet cloth and reeds, it held the various objects he had scavenged from the places he had travelled.  Interesting shells, bones, gourds hollowed out and stuffed with pressed berries and nuts, and here and there a precious half-remembered tool or broken artefact from the time before.

Skrunge picked up one of the gourds and picked nuts from the hollowed centre, crunching them between his teeth.  His teeth had grown sharper, too.  He seemed to remember some of them being flatter before, more suitable to-

A heavy crunch, then darkness.




Skrunge stood on the edge of the world, leaning heavily upon the worn copper pick, and looked out.  The chains at his neck chafed, and he bore deep scars from the years his collar had worn against him.  It was hard to see in the twilight, or it should have been.  His eyes pierced the veil of night more readily than before, much more so than the harsh light of day.  Had he once smiled upon the light of day?  No, no, he was sure of that.  He had found it repulsive even before.  Before what?  No time for such things; the masters allowed scant hours of rest, and he must take them.  He slumped to the ground and slept where he fell.


Dreams, dreams and troubles stumbled through his mind.  Flashes of cold, great chambers, of hard lines instead of the rough curves of caverns.  A figure standing above him.  A powerful figure, a creature of authority.  Father?

"We are all slaves," the figure was saying.  He could not make out the creature's face.  "Slaves to duty, you and I."

To duty, father?

"A great burden rests upon our shoulders, but we must carry it for the sake of our kind."

Our kind, father?  Who?  Who are our kind?

"Wake up, child."

What?

"I said wake up, slave!"


Consciousness, and with it the harsh sting of the driver's whip.  Another day in the mines, toiling for the glory of... of whom?  Goblins.  That's what they were called, wasn't it?  It was now.  Skrunge struggled to his feet and lugged the pick after him, but instinct made him stop.  The master spat and cursed at him, then swept his vile lash, but Skrunge scrabbled down the hill's edge and scrabbled in the dirt, first with his hands and then with his pick, until at last he retrieved it.  It was...  Skrunge did not know what it was, but he held onto it tightly, despite the driver's whip.  He would give it to the master, to the master alone.  The driver beat him until he could not move, but he did not release his grip.  At last the driver spat upon him and summoned the master to his presence.  Skrunge released his fingers and raised the gift to the master.  Then darkness descended upon him.




Skrunge stood on the edge of the world and looked out.  His collar had grown smaller, these many years, from the heavy iron yoke of the mining pits to the slender steel ring around his neck.  He scanned the valleys until his eyes fell upon the prize he sought; a broken wagon.  Corpses surrounded it; short, bearded corpses, their entrails strung out across the hillside.  Here, there, an eagle's feather, broad as a man's hand.  Skrunge scurried down the valley's side, keeping as best he could to the greenery.  There were riches to be found here; jewellery, food, tools.  Anything his strong green back could carry.  He loaded pans and tongs into a sack he carried, even a keg of stout ale.  He drew an old, rusted knife, its handle bound with threadbare violet cloth, and cut away a thighbone from each of the short, bearded creatures.  He and his knife would pretty them later.

Just before he turned to leave, Skrunge heard a cry.  One of the little creatures had not yet died.  It hid behind a sack in the very corner of the wagon, smaller even than the rest.  A child.  Skrunge flashed his sharp, yellow teeth, and the tiny creature squealed.  He seized it by the shoulder with his long fingers and stuffed it, too, into the sack and departed.




Skrunge stood on the edge of the world and looked back.  Times changed, the master's fortunes had not held forever.  Gone were the green valleys, gone the freely found meat and bone to chew and suck.  Gone even was the azure infinity of the ocean's edge.  Only white survived now.  White, as far as the eye could see.

White, and trolls.

Spoiler: Skrunge (click to show/hide)

[Iituem]

Ozo Bododsong

One of the earliest things Ozo could remember was bricks.  Bricks being stacked in the sunlight, a cool breeze and the sound of birdsong behind the heavy murmur of the workmen.  He carried them, back and forth, helping the older men lay them one upon the other to build... to build something.  He couldn't remember what.  He could remember his father, though, chief amongst the bricklayers.

He broke out of his reverie and stacked another brick atop the thick black sludge that served as mortar.  Wiping the matted red hair from his brow, Ozo picked up his trowel and spread more mortar between the joints, then reached for another of the heavy bricks of glassy black rock.  A hundred others followed suit, labouring beneath the moon's sallow light to raise up a tower to the glory of their dark lord.  A scant few years later he would fall, his brains dashed against a rock and his body burnt to ashes, but now he sat tall upon his black throne as the slaves laboured.



Another year, another tower.  This time for a dark lady, Sheget Wanderbreached, though none were truly sure if 'lady' was the appropriate term.  The brass collar around Ozo's neck chafed, as it always did, and the sun baked harshly on his brow.  The Lady had ordered speed, a fortification to guard against the growing human menace to the west.  So they worked through the day, harsh as it was upon their eyes and skin.  Ozo's crew worked the hardest, in part from the discipline of the whip, in part from the guidance of their foreman.  A slave he might be, but like all his kin he took pride in this great tower, this dark fortress.  Yes, they built it for a master, and none would remember their names, but they had built it.  They had been a part of something great, something to stand for centuries to come.  Surely that was worthwhile?



Such memories did little to comfort Ozo in the current day.  He had enjoyed favour for a time, overseeing the construction of a whole wing of the third fortress of the Aching Seductions, but his then-master had fallen foul of politics and he with him.  He had passed from master to master for a time, his skill as a mason earning him a higher price than many others from the pits, and in the course of his journeys came into the ownership of an archon, residing in one of the very towers he had helped to build; the second.  His master had limited use for a mason, but there had been many harsh accidents in the forges.  He survived the first year with only burns, better than most, and came to learn something of the chief craft of the tower's forge: armoury.



He had been taken on by his present masters for these latter skills; need of a capable weaponsmith to keep their blades and spears in working order, to repair dents and tears in their armour from the dangerous quarries they sought.  Yet here and now, wrapped in shreds of white bear's fur, his skin cut bitterly by the rushing ice in the air, it would be his skills as a mason that held their best chances of survival.

Spoiler: Ozo (click to show/hide)

-----

Still five spaces to go!  I would rather not start until they are filled, mind.

[Jim Groovester]

I feel burned by Olonkulet... but, your writing is still excellent so I might as well see where this goes.

I'll take goblin number seven.

Name: The one she already has
Nickname: Halfear
Description: Zom's most distinguishing characteristic is that the top half of her left ear is missing, an injury she swears she can't remember getting. A long scar extends across her head along the line that her ear was cut, an obvious indicator of the source of her memory loss. She remembers little else, save a vague sense of purpose, that there was some sort of task she was supposed to accomplish, but it's been two hundred years and since she can't remember what it was she has better things to worry about. She was forced into slavery only a while ago, and as a slave she has been highly sought after for her education. She doesn't remember getting it, like everything, else, but she's changed hands many times as a result.
Profession: Educated Slave
Game Profession: Mechanic/Architect/Record Keeper/Organizer (Record Keeping and Organizing shouldn't be embark skills, that way she doesn't end up expedition leader.)

[Dbuhos]

Goblin 2. Name him Uzulek,

[Iituem]

Zom "Halfear" Assmosnodub

scritchscritchscritchscritchscrit- THUMP!

"Will you lay off with the bleeding scribbling, slave?!  There are important matters of state to consider here!"

Zom picked the piece of charcoal up from the ground, keeping her eyes low and pose submissive.

"Of course, master," she murmured.  "Apologies, master."

The master had already forgotten about her existence, of course.  He was lying back on his couch, being fed strawberries by another slave while a human ambassador knelt on the blood-spattered stones before him.  Like all good slaves, Zom had learned the trick of keeping her face neutral no matter what, but inwardly she frowned at the stains.  Dostngosp had spent much of the night cleaning those very flagstones and no doubt she would have to repeat it all over again.  Zom felt a little pity for her, but not much.

"What... what do you want?" the human demanded through ragged, bloody breaths.

"Peace, of course," said the master, Zolak Sulliedpoison.  The human stared at him in bewilderment.  Or, Zom supposed, he ogled in bewilderment.  He wouldn't be using that other eye any time soon.  Or ever again, depending on how the meeting turned out.  She made a note of this on her book of parchment, taking care to keep the sound of her writing to a minimum.

"We have made no attack upon you-" the ambassador began.

"We know," said Zolak, pausing briefly to allow Dostngosp to place another strawberry in his mouth.  "Actually, we've been attacking you.  Rather a lot, I should say."

"What?" the ambassador gasped.  "But surely my government would have told-"

"They did try," Zolak said evenly.  "Of course, we were very apologetic once we found the diplomatic seals on the bodies.  Perhaps they should make them more visible from archer range?"  The dark lord let out a sharp, chattering cackle.  It grated on Zom's nerves, but the effect obviously unsettled the ambassador.

"My people will not settle for this!" the ambassador shouted, or tried to, but the beating his lungs had received caused him to break into a spasm of coughing.  "There will be war!"

"No, there won't."  Zolak shifted onto one arm so he could see the ambassador better.  "Because you are going to deliver a message to them.  You will tell them not to pursue a full-scale conflict.  You will tell them that we are no real threat to their sovereignty, just a border problem.  And you will tell them that we respond without mercy to threats to ourselves."  Ah, thought Zom, flipping to a certain page in her book.  Here it comes.

"I shall say no such thing!" the ambassador declared defiantly.

"That's alright," replied Zolak with a grin full of sharp, yellow teeth.  "I didn't have any intention of you saying anything."  Zom quietly wrote the word Tongue down in the margin of the page.  "In fact," Zolak continued, "you really only need one hand to write, don't you?"  Zom scribbled Hand, Left beneath her previous entry.

"Now, wait a minute," the ambassador begged.  "Let's be reasonable..."

"And I've always wondered whether or not a man really needs both legs to ride a horse.  Haven't you?"  Zom wrote Leg down and then, after a moment's deliberation, Right.  The ambassador was in tears by this point.

"Oh, don't cry," said Zolak with a soft tut.  "I do have one little bit of mercy for you."  Here we go, Zom thought with a mental grin.  She hunched forward slightly in anticipation.  Come on eye, come on eye!  "We'll make sure that busted old eye doesn't give you any more trouble as well."

Yes! thought Zom with a touch of inner glee.  She noted it down on the list and then penned the ambassador in for the sacrificial priest/chief torturer's two o'clock slot.  She'd had a bet riding with the other slaves on whether he'd take the eye or not.

"And now," said Zolak with a heavy yawn, "I must enjoy a little beauty sleep.  You may go."  The ambassador was grasped roughly by the shoulders by a pair of guards and dragged, screaming, to the dungeons.  Zolak turned on his couch so he was on his side and began to snore lightly.  Zom tried to carry out a little of the back-logged administration for the fortress while he slept.

scritchscritchscritchscrit- CLANG!

Zom ducked, narrowly avoiding the chalice that struck the wall where her head had been.  She scratched idly at the missing edge of her ear as her master settled back to sleep, then picked up her charcoal stick and book.  Perhaps she had better finish the paperwork in the hallway.

Spoiler: Zom 'Halfear' (click to show/hide)

------

Sorry, Jim.  Here's a little salve for that burn.

[Jim Groovester]

I dunno, I feel really burned by Olonkulet. Got any more salve?

I kid, I kid.

This story's looking pretty good too, so if you worked on both, that would be great. But pace yourself; I'd rather have less frequent updates if it meant you wouldn't burn out.

[darkflagrance]

I'm curious as to what kind of goblin entity you are using; is it a reimagined hierarchy? Or is it essentially a copy paste of the dwarven one? Because I fear that otherwise you will suffer problems with nobles later on.

Incidentally, I would like to claim goblin no. 5 please, if you don't mind.

---

Though his given name was Snang, the name he chose for himself was Goxa, meaning 'torture' in the goblin tongue.

He is incredibly weak and flimsy, and not tough at all. However, luckily for Goxa, that didn't matter because of his status as a free goblin, favored by those more powerful than he, and able to persuade them to do his bidding with his golden tongue. Others fear to challenge him for fear of incurring the wrath of higher ups, for whom he acts as torturer and executioner.

He is secretive about his background, and always lets on that he has always been a goblin, ever loving of exerting his superiority over others. However, he vaguely remembers having once been a hero who loved his freedom, but eventually having been defeated and corrupted, twisted and cruelly reshaped by the demon Sheget the Firebreather, ruler of the goblins. Not a trace of his original virtue remains in his cold, unfeeling nature now, only a vague sense of shame at what he has become.

He is partially the reason why the expedition has set out for these cold lands, for he still treasures the memory of wandering the untamed wilds, and the idea of bending them to his will.

Skillwise, he has some skill in appraisal from handling the financial affairs of the goblins, and his social and leadership skills are strong from his constant manipulation of the webs of goblin power. His former prowess as a warrior and torturer has given him skill in butchery and tanning, from the handling of his victims and trophies.

I considered requesting bonecarving, but I decided against it, given that decay appears broken. Perhaps just give him 1 point in it?

...further edit: not tanner: give him leatherworker.

[Iituem]

Uzulek Osnonsnodub

Uzulek's morning routine consisted of brushing his long, violet hair; disassembling his crossbow; polishing and oiling the parts; reassembling it and finally giving it a test shot, usually at a post but sometimes at a small passing animal.  This routine played out, exactly the same, every single morning come rain or shine.  He had once conducted it in a muddy, blood-soaked ditch on the morning after a battle, nestled into as comfortable a position as he could manage atop the corpses of erstwhile companions.  Performing the routine on the back of a wagon in the middle of a sea of unbroken ice therefore seemed perfectly appropriate, even if his fingers were a little stiff for the activity.

Feeling the pace of travel lag a little, Uzulek unfolded his whip and gave a warning crack at the slaves dragging it, then settled back onto the supplies and stared at the horizon, trying to recall how he had come to this point.

Uzulek had started out as a slave, like most goblins.  Unlike most goblins, he had won his freedom through the tried and tested combination of service, loyalty and carefully arranged blackmail.  After ten years beneath the whip, he had bought his freedom and ventured out from the frozen capital at Bendstolen in search of his fortune.  Not a moment too soon, either, as the underworld had all but literally broken loose shortly after he had left.  The then-dark lady of the Aching Seductions Vilala Urngraves, a creature made entirely of water and twisted into the shape of a bipedal iguana, had taken it upon herself to challenge one of the great hydra, Seggu Cleanedsnarled the Lurid Rawness.  The battle, Uzulek later heard, had lasted for a full hour in which Vilela crushed three of Seggu's heads before the hydra had stomped her into a wet puddle.

Thereafter followed three years of civil war as every goblin took sides in a struggle for the position of dark lord.  Just as Vilala had killed and replaced Snamoz Profanestuttered before her, and Snamoz had murdered the first dark lord Zolak Vicemaligns two years into his reign, the position of ascendance by assassination was well-established in Seduction society.  Uzulek avoided the whole affair for the next three years, surviving on the land with his wits and his bow until a new leader, Zolak Sulliedpoison, had finally re-established order with an iron first.  Once that had happened, Uzulek had simply walked back into town and begun selling the pelts and ivory he had obtained during his exile as if nothing had changed.

Life went on.  Uzulek turned his hand to raiding and even briefly a spot as an overseer at one of the mines, mostly whipping slaves to do the actual work.  He eventually fell in with his current boss after a botched human rescue effort.  The boss had been impressed with Uzulek's aim and had offered him a job as whipmaster, with a decent wage and the option to take two of the boss' own slaves as pension when he eventually left.  Spurred on by dreams of starting his own entourage, Uzulek had accepted.

That was twelve years ago.  By then, the current dark lady Sheget Wanderbreached - may her fur be soft and fire, agonizing - had been securely entrenched on the throne for more than three decades, and the Seductions were looking to continue experiencing one of the longest periods of peace and prosperity in its brief history.  No doubt it still was for the most part, but Uzulek's slice of harmony had come crashing to an end with his boss.  One day everything had been going as normal; ordering the slaves to look after the herds, preparing for a coming raid, overseeing that half-eared girl's accounts on the boss' mine production.  The next day, a letter had arrived and the boss had given the order to clear out.  No time to get more than basic supplies, just grab everything at hand and stuff it into the wagon.  They'd had a couple of stolen horses to get them started, but the damned beasts had died of exhaustion by the third day.  After that, they'd had to hitch the slaves up to the yoke.

Uzulek awoke from his reverie and narrowed his eyes.  Figures on the horizon.  He readied his crossbow and hunkered down into the wagon for cover.

Spoiler: Uzulek (click to show/hide)

------


Copy/paste with altered titles, mostly.  I tried using all fresh on a test embark and things went... poorly.  No admin, broker, exped leader, no military... yeah, it was fun alright.  There are a couple of changes, mind.  Noble positions aren't hereditary any more, so we'll see how that turns out.  Oh, and there's no re-elections for the mayor equivalent.  It's a position for life, with all that that entails.

[Neyvn]

Theres one left right...

Name Kiku...

Make him a warrior if possible, using whips...

His name actually is the sound you make when you say it, not the symbols, you know.

Actually Gob 6 is perfect for a Slave Driver, read it...