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[kisame12794]

wait did my dwarf become a father?

[Steb]

I'm loving this story - keep it up!
Can you Dorf me please as the next available child? Steb(male)/Steba(female)

[Zebrian]

Dorf me in, please, to the next child in the pressure cooker.

Zebrian for male, Zebrea for female.

Loving the story, mate, keep it up!

[zair]

I shall be leader of the next wave of immigrants! if you please.

and truely a good story man, props drills and mechanisms to ya for it.

[Dante]

Journal of Hawkeye, 18 Granite 204

Today the vultures came for the spoiled heap of carrion which is this fortress. Not metaphorical vultures, by which I mean goblins, but literal ones.

Catalyst took matters into his own... mouth...

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

...then kerbstomped the creature to finish it.

This took place in our hospital nook, which is now one-fifth more bloody than before.


27 Granite

Rith Woundvirgin has died in the desert. Her spectre popped in briefly to mention it, before moving on.

Vultures continue to wheel in the distance.

Later this day, the ghost child Cilob was put to rest. This appears to have finally ended our ectoplasmic infestation. Slime asked me, who was I going to call? I told her, Catalyst. He is the one currently on corpse duty.

The strange, nervous woman suggested that we now call him Catalyst the Buster of Ghosts and put him in charge of fortress defence, a suggestion which I firmly declined.

Meanwhile, the outpost liaison continues to stagger across the desert. At this rate he will arrive in three years, maybe two-and-a-half with a following wind.

[Dante]

Journal of Goden, Expedition Leader of the Assembly of Smiths, 1 Slate 204

Things continue moderately expeditiously. This morning I disentangled myself from day-to-day affairs to look in on Kisame and Squadron Leader's family. They have two sons, Maxrmk and Vorthon.

The newer arrival is Vorthon, a healthy child with an enormous moustache and a clean-shaven head. I commended him on this piece of hygiene, but received only a gurgle in response. Kisame informs me that he does not yet talk. Unacceptable! I will be setting up lessons, and minimum standards, for all children.

Where his mother, Squadron Leader, likes geese for their formation flying, Vorthon likes bees for their ability to organise. A man after my own heart. I note that he is seldom sick, but has no ability with social relationships, little willpower and a poor sense of movement. He also repeatedly snaps his fingers when he's trying to remember something, which is a behaviour I'd never before seen in even the most precocious of two-month-old infants.

I found additionally that he doesn't really care about anything anymore. Worrisome. Inquiries about at which stage in his development he did care about anything were met with evasion.

I returned that afternoon with coloured blocks to begin educational standardisation. Vorthon was preoccupied with thin air. It seems he likes the colour 'clear'. Clearly a trouble-maker. I will watch this one.

[Dante]

Journal of Catalyst the migrant, 6 Felsite 204

With dawn came figures appearing on the horizon. I ran to the traps to make sure each one was primed and ready, then peered over the walls, wondering whether I should bother hiding under a dead dog this time, or if the goblins would inevitably slaughter us.

I was surprised by the sight that met my eyes. Migrants! Seventeen of them!

I couldn't help but sketch the sight from my vantage point on a rough-cut granite wall.



The first figures that approached picked up our long-awaited liaison, and he managed to stumble into the fortress leaning heavily on their shoulders. We have no organised leader, so he has been entirely ignored.

I glanced over the new arrivals. A clothier, a fishcleaner, a glassmaker, an archer, three warriors, a weaponsmith, a stonecrafter, a milker, a soapmaker, a dwarf with eleven different craft skills, a glazer, a miner, a leatherworker, and a mason. A formidable looking old dwarf staggered behind the column, her arms piled high with finely-engraved slabs of wax. Her head was cleanshaven, a style I have seldom seen outside the most conservative enclaves of the mountainhomes.

We have immediately set to killing all their animals. There is not a scrap of grass in this forsaken land.

[Dante]

Logbook of Zair, self-appointed giant amongst dwarves, 7 Felsite, 204.

Our little band of merry dwarves reached what we expected to be our new home this week. And I must immediately say, what a mess. Not up to standard whatsoever.

Rockfalls is a walled hovel next to a huge, bubbling magma lake. Well, the latter is an asset, I suppose.

I suppose I had better explain myself.

I am Zair, daughter of Zaira the Lady Dragonscolder. I am an armoursmith extraordinaire, premiere bee keeper, and of late, wax worker and recordkeeper. Those last two go hand in hand. I could not undertake a journey like this without writing an account of it. The first choice would be a nice slab of marble, as is traditional. But with that unavailable, what better medium to write in than wax, where a mistake can instantly be wiped clean with a warm thumb? Although I must say, this logbook did not stand up well to the desert heat of our journey. Fortunately, I have an excellent memory.

I forge armour the old ways, using hot magma and true grit. Coal, I sincerely believe, is the invention of elves and their distasteful ilk.

I was formerly known as Splatteredoar, for the way I beat in a cave crocodile's head with an oar from my rowboat. Ancient tradition dictates that a dwarf takes an underground sailing excursion at least once in his lifetime. And yet they laughed!

I must say, I had hoped to find a better, more traditional society here, a society where women wear their heads shaven as is decent and dresses are made of proper horse leather, but we shall have to see how I sculpt it. The traps are lovely, very traditional, but reeking miasma! And the blowflies! It is simply not proper. I will soon have this place 'shipshape', to use a vulgar mannerism. This I swear.



Several orphaned children are with us. The journey into the desert was not a joyous one. The nearest one is a fine young girl named Steba, who shares some of my sensibilities. I have commanded her to wear sensible horse leather instead of the ridiculous peafowl-skin ensemble, and oh my – trousers – so we shall see what may be done with her.



Meanwhile, where are the bedrooms? These old bones need rest.

[shadenight123]

if there is a dorfing slot, dwarf me in. >.> doesn't matter in what.

[HiEv]

Could I get the "dwarf with eleven different craft skills", please?  "HiEv" if male, "HiEva" if female.

Fun read, by the way.  I always enjoy the updates.  The 1 Slate, 204 Journal of Goden entry was especially funny.

Thanks.

[Yoink]

Oh yeah! Hooray! More updates! *dances for joy*

Gotta love Goden's 'minumun standards for all children'!

[UltraValican]

Great Story can't wait until the ending, so we can all enjoy some hot steaming dwarven stew
In addition, can I be a dwarf..a refugee preferably...any fat male or an axe man/woman  please
If Fat male: Goro
If Axe man: Goro
If Axe Woman: Magara

[Uristisdying]

This is the first story/character-driven DF-AAR that keeps me longing for more. Please do continue! 

[CatalystParadox]

"If there's something dead /
in your fortress yard /
Who you gonna call? - Corpse Haulers! /
If you're smelling rot, /
and it's not mule lard / 
Who you gonna call? - Corpse Haulers!

We're bein' haunted by the dead, / 
We're bein' haunted by the dead...

If the dead have rose /
And your moods are low /
Who you gonna call? - Catalyst!
The goblins too? /
You'll reap what you sow... /
Who you gonna call? - Catalyst!"

Ahem. 

I am kind of sorry that this has been diverted somewhat from the magma-vessel premise with the proliferation of the migrant-fort stuff (and looking back, I think I started it), but you can hardly blame people for wanting a piece of something awesome.  Seriously, this is incredible.  You're on the path to legend, Dante.

I'm afraid I'm starting to get attached to the poor dorf, who's still just as doomed as ever no matter how awesome he keeps being.

[Vorthon]

but has no ability with social relationships, little willpower and a poor sense of movement.

That describes me well. Or at least it used. I've trained myself to have social skills.