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[elizar]

Well then, now to hope that she'll survive the first years.

Also, Stukosdaughter? I'm actually from Iceland where surnames are patronymic, so that was a big surprise for me. Didn't know patronymic naming was that known.

[Dante]

Well, I'd already named Stukos' first two daughters that when I started playing, just so I would remember they were important 

Whoa, the Wikipedia article on Icelandic names is startling. Legal requirements? Naming committees? You learn something new every day.

[Dante]

Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 19 Opal

Hey-o. Flintus the Tenth is dead.

It started when he was beating on one of the geese for “looking at him funny” - something he's accused half the fortress of in the last few weeks.

Unfortunately for him, he picked the worst possible person to smack the fowl around in front of.



The inevitable happened.



Squadron Leader's not too happy about it, but I feel we're better off. That whole family was quite messed up. Of course, now that her hubby's gone, Forumite might have to start haunting something else...



So, yeah. Goden's probably not too happy about this turn of events, either. And beestings on top of everything else.

Just wait until Flintus comes back as a ghost, too.

[CatalystParadox]

scratched into the wood wall of a corner of the ramshackle fort:

Catalyst's journal - I don't know what day it is.

I swear I heard
screams from below
today, echoing.
This gives me hope.
Either our salvation,
or a swift death
lies below.
Either would be
welcome.

[Vorthon]

I'll just wait for another male child to be born...

[SlimyMarmot]

This is great - the walls might take the pressure but the dwarves are another thing 
Dwarf a hopeless (with as many limbs as possible) surface immigrant as "Slime", if you'd be so kind!

[Savolainen5]

Dorf me as Savi, one of the above-ground doomed dwarves.

[Karakzon]

*beats a tune out on the table with a mug as he sings*

The walls are coverd in blood. leaking like armoks veins.
a goose or gander, an axe did land, and fourmite to the endless sandy mains.
were would we be, in hell or heaven? forsaken or saved? those laden or laid?
drink up dwarfs and dont despair! beat your fists on the table or air!
count from the seven! the sign of the waved, magma covers this land.
Ghosts abound and the devil may stirr, but by my beard we will stand!

sharpen your witts and see to your freinds, for all we hold dear.
One way or another under a sea of rock, only together can we hold here...

drink up dwarfs and dont despair! Beat your fists on rock or air!
well make our forbearers proud before were done.
no sense in the lost, forward as one! well carry our dead with care.
No matter the sound, nor the shame, for in the eyes of armok, we shall prove were all one and the same.

drink up dwarfs and dont despair! beat your fists on iron or air!
Together we stand or alone fall. This warning be firm but fair.

-end of the ballad of encouragement-

[stool]

It's intriguing to see how the torment of a dead spouse can affect a dwarf, although unsubstantiated rumour has it that waking up to find a wambler nesting in his armpit this morning didn't help.

i love the wambler harass and ghosts spreading the news from the surface^^.

[Malorn]

An I'm just living a simple and uneventful life it seems.  Not dying of starvation as a baby.  This is one of the best DF games I've seen in text.  If it goes on long enough, who knows where it may end.  *coughheadshootscough*

[Dante]

Thadtude, mason/herbalist of the outsiders, speaks. 28 Opal, 203.

One of our animal dissectors, a muscular dwarf who we know only as Roseanvil, just beat a wolf to death in a fit of rage. His bloodlust unsated, he went on to put a stonecrafter, Rith Woundvirgin, in hospital. Not that we have a hospital.

And I'm guessing we're going to have to change the stonecrafter's name now, since a snapped spine suggests she is no longer an innocent when it comes to wounds.

[Dante]

Journal of Kisame the Legendary Armourer, 3 Obsidian 203

McClay, who had been sculpting a beautiful green glass statue of Goden picking his nose, just threw down her tools. The made look in her eye was one I recognised, and sure enough, she just smashed the glass into three pieces and threw them into the furnace area, launching herself after them in a frenzy of work.

Stool has opened a betting pool on what the strange construction will be. I have wagered the modest sum of two rock nuts that it is to be a ridiculous hat, on which I received decent, but not amazing, odds. After all, you never can tell, with a creative psychosis – or, in the common parlance, 'strange mood'.

Given that McClay likes catapult parts, that is receiving the most speculation so far, but a few have guessed it will be a statue – mussel shells, rats or turkeys being the main contenders for subject there.

[Dante]

Journal of Savi the Refugee Animal Dissector, 7 Obsidian 203, out in the desert

I start this journal as the only hope I have of influencing the future. My legacy is unlikely to be significant, out in the blood-soaked desert. If I ever have a child, I will burn this volume.

I am not easily ruffled; I have lost control only twice in my life. Once was when I stood in the presence of a dimetrodon monster, most awe-inspiring of beasts. The second time, when I slew a vicious goblin. My powerful fists lodged inside his guts, and there was nowhere to wash them. Such things happen.



But I shall now record another disaster, one which I kept my calm and kept out of.

Disaster is precisely the right word, though. Roseanvil, that other animal dissector – the spectacularly angry one – the hugely muscled one, yes – finally snapped. His mind just dissolved completely, this morning. Unfortunately, he was already dressed for war, in his fine wooden pants, his single armoured foot, and his hollowed-out-chicken knapsack.


Thadtude, a raw recruit, encountered the raging dwarf first. Thadtude parried a blow, then bit Roseanvil desperately in the throat. The recruit fought like a dwarf possessed, stabbing the maddwarf in the hand with a pickaxe before they went down in a flurry of limbs. Thadtude swung a pick again, and it scraped along Roseanvil's breastplate.

Then Catalyst charged to the rescue, distracting the berserk dwarf with swift punches to the arms. It gave Thadtude the chance to slice Roseanvil's leg off neatly from behind with his pickaxe, but the dwarf gave it no more regard than a mere scratch.

I sat with Slime and the other walking wounded, clutching my cut hand and watching. Thadtude knocked out the raging idiot's teeth with a vicious uppercut, and Catalyst broke his finger. Catalyst then grabbed him so that Thadtude could cut off his arm at the shoulder.

Roseanvil bellowed something about it being only a flesh wound, and knocked Catalyst to the floor. Thadtude took the opportunity to lop off Roseanvil's other leg.

The mad dwarf managed to gasp out, “Come back here and-” before he bled out.

Both heroes were bruised but, luckily, otherwise unhurt.


Thadtude lay down next to the body, which was draped conveniently over a coffin, and instantly began to snooze.

I don't know who it will be next time, but I have grown... content with my fate.

[Dante]

(Thanks for the nice words, Bay12ers, and it's neat to have people adding their own entries too. Vorthon, you're top of the dorf list.)

[Yoink]

This just keeps getting better.
I -would- like to do a few entries, but you've got Yarf's personality so... PERFECT that I just doubt I could do it as well!
Maybe I'll draw a huge pile of fat roasts?