So the previous overseer came and shoved a load of paperwork into my hands, saying ‘Screw this, you take over’. Finally. I knew my natural talent would shine through. So let’s have a look at this fort...
THE HELL?
Where is anything? Where’s the mason’s workshops? And the mechanics? And the booze? Also, why’s no-one doing anything?
I quickly sorted through the jobs, sorting them into two kinds of dorf: useful and not. The useful dorfs got ordered to do nothing but their best skills, and the useless ones got told to do everything else (hauling, wall build et.c.). Note to later leaders: set the profiles on any workshop you make to only lets good dorfs work there.
From what I understand, the leader had plans to set up some kinda mist generator in the meeting hall. Now I like a nice bit of sparkly mist as much as any dorf, so I happily continued his requests. I also found some weird room out in the sea.
Neat. I’ll have it engraved and make it into my personal chambers. Probably extend it too.
I also found a rather confusing note.
Evidently a lever of some kind once stood here, and was not supposed to be pulled. Ever. How boring.
In an attempt to make this fortress a little more organised, I made plans for a huge staircase to be dug, around which we could base our home.
Even in this hellhole, apparently you can find some happiness. Turkey and Lupusater have gotten married. Luckily, they did not hold any celebration. Probably because we’ve got nowhere
to celebrate.
As if spurred on by this, our militia commander ‘Spanner’ and our armourer ‘Glacial’ also got married.
In preparation for the mist generator, I ordered somebody to empty buckets of water down a hole until we had sufficient water for it to run.
Fuckwits couldn’t find anywhere to get water from. We live by the fucking seaside. How hard can it be to find some water?
Oh goody, migrants. A ton of useless idiots, and not one but
two high master masons. Neat. Also of note was the oddly named ‘Vee’, an experienced hunter who I promptly put in the military (you wanted danger, and now you’re expected to protect Battlefailed. Have fun.) As other migrants ran around shitting themselves at the mere sight of a zombie ground hog, she shot it in the face.
As soon as the migrants began to reach Failcannon itself, Glacial suddenly went mad. Speaking in a voice that was not his own, he demanded someone to build him a crafts workshop. The migrants’ first impression was some nutty dwarf demanding a workshop to be built. Welcome to fucking Failcannon.
At least he calmed down once we built him a workshop. He grabbed four pieces of gypsum and started working away feverishly.
Also some random nobodies got married. But I don’t really care.
What will Glacial make? Find out next time!