Dear collective Urists of "region 1":
I have come to understand that the 21 of you have managed to embark in such a location that everything above the aquifer level is made entirely of fire clay. To date, you're the only colonists to have been able to locate so much as a single tile of the stuff. So good on you for that! However, there are several concerns that need immediate addressing.
Dear Urist McWoodcutter:
I don't care how many langurs and keas are flitting about-- you done goofed, mate. Yes, I know they're scary, but they're also thieving bastards, and that was the fort's only axe. Given that we have no stone whatsoever to work with, I think you can figure out the problem on your own. I'm strongly considering ordering your fellows to bash you against the remaining trees until the trees fall over.
I wouldn't have cared if you're a lumberjack, if you're okay, if you sleep all night and work all day, and have a number of Royal Canadian Mounties singing back-up for you. As it stands, you, good Urist, have blown it.
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Dear Urists McFarmer and McBrewer, respectively:
I have no idea what you're on about that there's no more plump helmet spawn, or any other seeds in the fortress for that matter. Our books clearly indicate that there are nearly 100 sitting in that stockpile directly in front of you. Why haven't you been planting? For the last three seasons, you've been camped out in the middle of one of the farm patches just staring at a wall.
This, then, brings us to the second point: there are barrels of perfectly good plump helmets sitting in the stockpile at the other end of the room, adjacent the still, and there are still a score of empty barrels in which to store the derived brew. Maybe if you'd brew the damn plump helmets and personally hand Urist McFarmer the plump helmet spawn, he'd get back to planting them.
At present, food stocks should be sufficient to feed a fort twice your size. That'll go faster than you think, though, so please get back to doing your damn jobs. Bastards like you two are exactly the reason that "region 2" is a goblin fort. At least they actually get shit done.
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Dear Urist McGlassmaker:
I know you're new here, but we deal in one export material and one export material only: fire clay. Don't you even think about getting into a Mood and 1)demanding a Glass furnace or 2)demanding glass of any variety.
I will order 3 entire Z-levels dropped on you out of spite.
This is your one and only warning.
Don't. Test. Me.
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Dear collective Urists McPotter-to-be:
The fort's got more clay and more kilns than dorfs right now. Make use of them while you can, because Urist McWoodcutter isn't going to be cutting any wood any time soon. What's cut now is to be parceled out to each workshop in the fort that needs it.
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Dear Urists McCarpeter and McBookkeeper collectively:
You two are the only dorfs in the fort who actually do their jobs. I both thank you, and offer congratulations. Urist McCarpenter, please keep on churning out as many masterpiece wooden items as you desire. Urist McBookkeepr, (either) you're doing an excellent job with the records (or you've goofed everything, and the rest of the dorfs standing around like idiots telling me that they don't have any of the things they need are correct).
Signed,
The Voice of Reason.
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Meanwhile, in "region 2"
Dear Stasosts (or Snodubs, whichever you prefer):
I think I may be the only person to say this, but... BREED, DAMN YOU! BREED! You may or may not have noticed, but we stopped getting both migrants and caravans about 5 years ago, and the attrition is really starting to add up now. We've had a 1/3 reduction of the population. Nowhere is there a single baby or child to be seen. It's up to you to put us back on a growth trend. Get to it!
*PS-- Dostngosp McMiner....erm, Rock-biter(?):
When I specifically told you to vein-dig that hematite, I fully expected you to STOP DIGGING once you hit the obsidian wall of the magma tube. I'm not sure what should have been your first clue-- that it was hot stone, or that it was obsidian instead of hematite. In any case, you single-handedly incinerated one out of every three goblins in the fort with your little screw-up. (How you, yourself, managed to escape incineration is beyond me, though.) While I can't pin the lack of merchants or migrants on you, the fort's death toll lies largely at your feet.
Sincerely,
Bittermalice, Demon Lord of Plaitedshrieks