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[Iituem]

Alright.  Because I like doing things with Community characters, no backstory until a couple have signed up.

I'd like seven dwarves please, with the caveat that at least one of you (the leader) will come from the Dwarven Church of [DATA REDACTED].  Pretty much any profession is welcome, but you'll find out the exact details of the plan once at least one person has signed up (the leader).  Mods are typical for my forts (Boksi plant mod, edited entity raws), plus a couple of antagonist races added based loosely on Elves and Goblins.

The Gloved Flags is the last dwarven civilisation amidst a world plagued by Faeries, Trolls, Goblins, Humans and (worst of all) Elves.  Determined to make its mark on the world and perhaps find a way of surviving against its many goes, the Flags have chosen seven brave figures to delve deep in search of glory.


Pantheon of the Gloved Flags and their associations

Not yet Available - Embark in Progress & Legends not Available

[Dermonster]

Axedwarf named Derm with a custom proffession of 'soulchopper'

Milita commander, has a penchant for exploration.

5 points in axedwarf, 3 in armor user, and 2 in shield user.

[Iituem]

Captain Derm entered High Priest Urist's chambers, giving a perfunctory bow to the dwarf himself.

"Please, sit," said Urist.  Derm sat.

"Could you tell me what date it is, Captain?" Urist asked.

"22nd Timber, your holiness," said Derm instantly.

"Of the thirty-second year of Our World.  Think about that, Captain.  Nearly thirty-three years, and what do our people have to show for it?  A hole in the ground."

Derm frowned slightly, his bushy whiskers bristling with disapproval.

"Holiness," he said, "I would not call the Mountainhome a 'hole in the ground'.  It is a testament to dwarven ingenuity and engineering."

"Of course," said the priest, waving his hand, "but look at the rest of the world.  Only here, in this range of mountains, do dwarves thrives.  Our fellows were slain within months of the Reckoning and the rest of the world became home to heathen, impure races.  It seems at times there is nowhere left to go that is not swarming with Elves or Trolls.  Yet there is a whole world we have dared not conquer, that would give us near-limitless power over the surface!"

"There is, holiness?" Derm asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," said Urist, who adopted a somewhat bitter grin.  "There is the Underworld."

"By the Gods!" Derm exclaimed, standing with a start.  "Have you gone mad!?"

"Not at all, Captain.  Rather, I have found sanity.  More sanity than scrabbling for grubs of land on the surface when there is a whole world untouched below!"

"Not untouched, holiness.  You above all should know what horrors lie beneath.  The horrors that no man or dwarf has ever beaten."

Urist snorted.  "I do not put stock in such beliefs - the demons will die like any other against the steel of the blade and dwarf that wields it.  And I am not the only one to think so.  The King agrees."

Derm's face fell.  "The King has given sanction to this madness?"

"He has.  And more than sanction.  The King believes that this holds the best hope our people have for victory.  He has given me the authority to command you to this task, on pain of imprisonment-"

"I'd rather live in a cell than die on this fool's errand!" Derm shouted.

"-or death."

Derm stewed for a few moments.  He sat back down.

"So what are my orders, holiness?" he spat.

"Simple.  You are to gather an initial expeditionary team and head to one of three sites.  There you will establish a temporary base until additional forces arrive, at which point you will then dig downward, colonising each successive layer of the Underworld until you reach the seas of fire that guard against the plague that is the demons."

"And then?"

"Then you will pierce those seas and bring order to the chaos of Hell."

"This is insane," Derm repeated.

"Perhaps, but you have no choice.  As for the locations, take a look at this map."  Urist slid a scroll onto his desk and unfurled it.  The scroll depicted a more-or-less complete map of the world.

"The first location is in a desert - an almost barren wasteland.  There are a handful of spindly things you could call trees if you were desperate, but that's it.  The good news is that a river runs through it, so you shan't want for power."

"That's not so bad," said Derm with a shrug.  "Can always work farms underground."

"The second has all the luxuries you could want - plenty of vegetation, high rainfall.  There are only two drawbacks.  One is lack of running water, so you'll need to set up windmills."

"Not a problem.  What's the second?"

"Hordes of the living dead."

"What?!"  Derm's eyes nearly popped out with shock.

"These locations were picked for their likelihood to lead to easy access to Hell.  Of course there are going to be a few drawbacks."

"Right, right.  And the third?"

"Just off the coast of the nortnern tundra."

"Cold, then.  Is it an island?"

"No."

"But you just said-"

"I said it was off the coast.  I didn't say it was an island."

"Hold on a minute, you don't mean that-"

"The ocean freezes almost solid there for half a year.  You'll have just enough time to dig down to the ocean floor, but if you want any sort of trade - and you will - you'll need to build a working pier.  The downside is that enemies can get in that way as well, so make sure it's defended.  Oh, and there's no vegetation or trees.  But we do think this one has the best chance of getting a clean 'in' to the Underworld."

"And those are all my options?"

"Those are all your options.  We can only afford a thousand 'rists for your expenses, too, so I suggest you economise on what you think you'll need.  And that's it.  May all the gods be with you, Derm!  You'll need it."

Derm waited for more, but it soon became apparent from Urist's amiable smile that more was not forthcoming.  Briefly considering a few choice parting swear words, Derm stood up, gave a very stiff bow and left.


-------------------

Three embark sites to choose from - Barren Wasteland, Nightmare Forest, Middle of the Ocean!

[mellonbread]

Ocean without a doubt.

[TALLPANZER]

I would like to join in. 5 in student 1 in fighter, dodger, observer, teacher, and  speardwarf. Call him Tallpanzer and give him the title "Academy student". Please make him as young as you can, thank you.

[Dermonster]

Forest.

Also, lovin' the character.
Here's hoping to a long life and a main character POV.

[Aramco]

Hah! I've already established a fully-functional battle station! (I've colonized HFS, too.) Nonetheless, I'll take a dwarf with 5 in strand extraction, 2 in weaving, and 3 in metal crafting.

EDIT: He is to be named... Aramco! He cares not for socialization or work. He would rather admire his Masterful Adamantine Battle Axe ((That he made himself) From scratch.) than anything else, he also likes to drink Dwarven Rum and eat Plump Helmets. He absolutely detests unsmoothed walls. He likes risks and take them whenever possible. He is a devout worshiper of Armok the Great. He refuses do any work involving mining or masonry. ((He hates stone.)He prefers metal.) He also hates nobles. He likes limestone, obsidian, gabbro, adamantine, and steel. He needs booze to get through the working day. He is Okay with little variety in his diet.

EDIT2: I would also like a zombie infested place. Which in this case is a forest.

[Ancalagon]

Ah, my first community game!

Weapon Smith named Ancalagon Guiscard, if you please. A full five points in that field, if possible. Of course, you can use him how you see fit if there is no need to make weapons. Multiple professions are fun!

As for character...

Ancalagon is a silent guy, but quick to make a decision. He tries to make decisions that result in the least amount of risk. Is prone to losing his temper after being tested, but does have a decent well of patience for a dwarf.

I concur with Dermonster, forest sounds really good.

[Psyco Jelly]

Miner named Ot. 5 points in miner and the rest in whatever you think is useful.

Likes short sentences.
Sometimes without subjects.
Usually three words.

[Sheb]

Weaponsmith. Call him Sheb, an d make him a casual worshiper of Taron. He got crippled when he was but a child ( a stupid cave-in accident) and now want to redeem himself by gorging weapons to kick asses.

[Dermonster]

I like how we don't have any farmers. and two weaponsmiths. and a strand extractor we are going to die in a month

Oh well, extra starting rations!

[Ancalagon]

Maybe they'll be some wee beasties to feast on, if it's the Forest start.

[Urist Imiknorris]

Proficient Grower, proficient armorsmith, please. Name "Urist the Not-Yet-Dead."

I'll be the representative of the Church of [DATA EXPUNGED].

[Dariush]

Wow, it's already becoming epic! I vote ocean, and dorf me please as Dariush with profession The Tinkerer, 5 points in mechanics, 3 in weaponsmithing, two in masonry. 
Application of Dariush for the post of Chief Mechanic of Hellgate

My name is Dariush. Some call me Dariush the Reclusive, some call me Dariush the Craven, but most of all I'm known as Dariush the Tinkerer. Since my childhood, I was introvertic, didn't make friends and always stayed behind the lines of fight - which, due to my home' closeness to troll lands, happened all too often. I've taken interest in mechanics and elaborate traps since it became clear that our village's warriors were far not enough while Mountainhome didn't wish to spare any more on defense of a small village. It was the last to fall to troll hordes, but by then I was in Mountainhome seeking opportunities to use my natural talent.
I've returned here after the outpost which I served as mason-mechanic in for last eleven years has given in to a grave mining mistake that cost the lives of nine tens of the population. I've heard of this madness of breaching hell and decided to enlist into the expedition. Since elaborate traps work much better than mundane weapons against the hordes of hell, I think I'll be of enormous help to this expedition. Even though I'm embarking on such a dangerous task, I've never been the one into fighitning so when we arrive I'll demand the quarters as close to the surface as possible - this closeness was the only thing that saved my hide that last time...
Oh, and please excuse my poor grasp of Common Tongue - I've spoken a local dialect for most of my life, and old habits die hard, eh?

[Iituem]

Derm sat down in one of the upper dining halls of the Mountainhome - essentially a tavern.  He ordered as stiff a drink as he could get ("Sorry, did you say turpentine?") and spread the map out over the table before him.  A desert, a forest, the ocean.  Which would they travel to?  What sort of lunatics would he recruit to such a venture?  And of course, the most important question...

"Why me?"

Derm glared at his drink, as if expecting a response.  Regrettably, for once alcohol did not provide the answers.  Of course, Derm already knew the reason he had been selected.  Three times in the past year he'd been brought up on charges of reckless drinking and fighting (perfectly ordinary - every dwarf got those), but unbeknownst to anyone else he hadn't been drinking at the time.  He'd volunteered time and time again for scout patrols near the border, but it had been to no avail.

The truth was, he was bored.  It had been over thirty years since the Reckoning.  He had been a dwarf then, too, though you didn't talk about those times.  And he had fought - he had fought day and night, to his knees in blood at times and as terrifying, horrifying and indwarvane as it had been, he had never wanted for something to do.  Of course, he had hoped for a fair bit of action after the Reckoning - everyone had expected wars to break out instantly as all the races clawed for surface land.  But ultimately such hopes were baseless; with the rest of the Dwarves wiped out, the Full Iron had been considered such a minor force that nobody had bothered to trouble them.  So three decades had passed with nothing more than a fistfight.  Derm had even once tried to fight a tumbleweed out of boredom.

The tumbleweed won.

Derm was broken out of his reverie by the familiar sound of a fight.  He stood up and quaffed the rest of the turps in preparation, then discovered it was only a brawl amongst youngsters.  Rather than take part, he ordered another pint of turps and watched the fight in progress.  One of the young dwarves, still perhaps only fifty, was managing to wipe the floor with another until the barman came in to break it up.  After a few last blows and oaths, the dwarf sat down and Derm moved to sit down next to her, passing her his drink.

"So what's your name?" he asked.

"They call me Tall Panzer," she said, taking a swig of the turps and wincing heavily when it hit the cuts on her lips.  "You?"

"Derm," said Derm, "and you're not all that tall."

"Nor am I a large cat," said Tallpanzer.

"Actually, I think you're referring to-"

"So why are you bothering me, 'Derm'?" Tallpanzer asked.

"Couldn't help but notice the fight," said Derm.  "Are you a wrestler?"

"Student," said Tallpanzer, taking another swig of turps.  Blood blossomed and swirled in the heady liquor.  "Or I was.  Third strike with the fighting, they kicked me out of the college."

"What subject?"

"Geology, specialising in Bestiary Studies.  I was aiming to do a thesis on the deeper monsters, but I'm hardly going to get the funding for mercenaries now, am I?"

Derm smiled.  "How would you like a real education in the Deep-Down?" he asked.

Tallpanzer gave him a very odd look.  "Are you propositioning me?" she asked.

"What?  Ah!  No!" said Derm quickly.  "I mean, yes, but not in that way.  Uh, may I start again on that?"

"Please, I insist."  Tallpanzer smirked.  Derm took a breath.

"Okay, so I've been commissioned by the King to-" embark on a suicide mission "-establish an outpost-" in a nightmare realm "-in uncontested territory-" and tunnel to the centre of the World, build an army and conquer it for the glory of dwarvenkind. "-and set up an arms manufacturing fort.  We'll need a competent geologist and there's a chance we might breach some of the caverns below.  Interested?"

Tallpanzer shrugged and swirled the mug.

"What's the pay like?" she asked.

"Food and board, and a cut of any profits we make."

"Not much, is it?"

"Better than a failed student will get here," Derm pointed out.  Tallpanzer snorted.

"Well, why not?  Haven't got anything else keeping me here."  She drained the last of her mug.  "So who else is in your expedition?"

Derm bit his lip.  "Ah.  Now see, that's the thing..."


----------------
First come order, alas - Darish is down for 1st Wave Immigrants.  Also, rather awkwardly, I've had to re-gen the world as the Terrifying Forest I thought worked was sea-locked - only dwarves could get there.  Hence, our nation is technically now known as the Gloved Flags.  I'll update the pantheon post appropriately.