Dear Mr. Shearer,
You went berserk and killed approximately half of my remaining fort population with a pickaxe. Prolly shouldn't have had you be a miner as well. Then, you got shot by one of the few still-sane dwarves and died. You could have at least finished the god-damn job. I mean really, after you killed the one guy in the military that was still eligible for action (as in, not stripping in the dining room and dying of thirst like our chief medical dwarf), who also made an awesome fucking axe out of bones and became a legendary Bone Carver, I ran out of fucks to give. I wanted to see this fort end by your pick and a ranger who failed to understand that A DINING ROOM BEING REPURPOSED AS A FOOD STOCKPILE IS A SIGN WE DON'T NEED ANYMORE VENISON came along and shot you a few times before you decided, "Welp, I'm done here! Bayh!" and fell on the grass. I would have at least liked you to have died in the hallways of the fort so I could add you to any of the many basalt coffins lining the walls to the dining stockpile and miasma room formerly known as the hospital because I didn't feel like/didn't have the miners to dig out more crypt rooms. Well, there was only one coffin in the hallway, but you would have made a nice new addition to the collection of rotten and skeletonized dwarf bodies lying in the corners, slumped against the wall, and tumbling down the stairs to cavern level one, that long, bumpy slide lubricated by blood and vomit and a hole where I thought, "Maybe building a well would make this better?". 2/3s of my fort wouldn't give a damn, being either melancholy or otherwise insane. Or just that fucking ecstatic. Anyways, you disappointed me. Your body will be eaten by the animals rather than preserved in a coffin or played with by the troglodytes that started this whole spiral.
Author
Topic: Note to Urist--In which you express your frustration to your dwarves (Read 1555380 times)