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[Bdthemag]

Great stuff so far, keep up the good work!

[Dante]

Journal of Kisame the Herbalist-Armourer, 25 Limestone

It is the two-week anniversary of our being ensconced in the Hamlet of Rockfalls without the second half of our supplies shipments. Against all prior probabilities, we are still alive. In fact, we are doing fairly well.

I believe I'm qualified to say that, by the way. Because I'm compassionate and try to lead a well-organised life, I do check up on everyone around me quite regularly. I also have a good feel of social relationships. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that they intrigue me!

The power structure in place here is quite fascinating. First, let me tell you about Squadron Leader, that sixty-eight year old, mining, fighting woman so dear to my own heart. She is quite formidable, of course, having built most of this fortress, and killing a crundle and a goblin scout in the process.

Squadron Leader – the name she was given at birth, incidentally – has long, double-braided copper hair, and bulges with muscles – she is a talented engraver, adept mason and, surprisingly perhaps, a proficient grower. Yes, she has quite an affinity for the peaceful art of farming. And, of course, her mining prowess is the stuff of legends. She likes digging magnetite and platinum, and loves leopard skin – although I don't believe we don't have any in the fortress, so I won't be seeing leopard print underwear on her any time soon.

She likes geese, too – for their formation flying, of course. She'll eat flounder, and tells me how she used to catch them with her toes, lacking the beard of a typical fisherdward. On the other hand, she hates oysters, which are almost impossible to pry off rocks with just the toes.

My dear Squadron Leader also has great focus and an iron will, and superb intuition, patience and memory. Her high kinesthetic and spatial senses, and skill with languages, can make her fairly intimidating. Indeed, she may come off as overconfident or even arrogant at times. But she's completely incapable of telling a lie, which is psychologically interesting.

A number of dwarves have applied to train as guards under her. There has been no official announcement that she in charge of the military, so this is a power structure purely derived from appearances!

Leaving aside the motherly and nature-loving (yet strangely dark) Surrey for the moment, there is probably only one other dwarf here who inspires as much fear and respect as Squadron Leader. That is, of course, Flintus the Tenth. Objectively, he is an interesting case study. Subjectively, he scares the hell out of me.



I feel sorry for Forumite, the younger golden-haired dwarf he recently married. I can only imagine how that proposal would have gone.



Seriously, though. Already something of a recluse, Forumite has withdrawn more and more, becoming aloof and cold, since the marriage. My offers to talk have been rejected, so I will simply keep an eye on her from a distance.

Then there is the third power player, Goden, our expedition leader and manager. He's... doing his best, I suppose. I found some ...plans... of his at his desk when I went to talk to him.

They are large blueprints, so I have folded them up here:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It gets worse. Under the plans were the following lists:

Married
1. Squadron Leader x Kisame
2. Skink-Killer x Goden
3. Jitters x Yarf
4. Flintus x Forumite
5. Oassis [widowed] – children: Unib, Tekkud
6. Rance x Bowie

Spare Females
1. McClay [helpful, extremely friendly, friendly with all the males except Karakzon.]
2. Stiric [non-sociable, near-friendless and lazy – major incompatibility issues. Possible match for Valrandir? Only as long as they're not allowed to have children.]
3. Billy Bob [feels a sense of belonging with cows. Always happy but avoids crowds. Possibly mentally damaged?]
4. Surray [swings between extremely pleasant and bewilderingly terrifying. Stool may be the only one brave enough to consider her.]

Spare Males
1. Dariush [slightly deaf, slightly blind, slightly senile – good match for Billy Bob?]
2. Valrandir [nervous yet relaxed. Trust issues. Likes purple ballista arrows, gutter cruor and platypus. Possibly issues in general.]
3. Stool [grudge against Karakzon. Adventurous and accomplished, but more concerned with clothing than other people. Possible swings an axe for the other team?]
4. Karakzon [grudge against Stool. Skinny, chipper, absolutely no respect. Spits and leers. Possible match for Billy Bob.]

I think it's not so much a case of him going mad with power as being completely unable to lead, and thus overcompensating.



When I eventually found him, muttering about “unregulated hauntings”, I told him perhaps we could just add a few more beds alongside the first row of bedrooms, instead of forcing pairings.

He looked at me like I was crazy. But at least he took on board my suggestions that he share out all the duties he was handling.

[Yoink]

I love this thread.
Good ol' Goden!

[Karakzon]

lol.
why do i hate so many people? x)

[stool]

Keep it up!
my dwarf is NOT queer,... just fancy! 

[Dante]

Diary of an unnamed migrant, 12 Sandstone 202

The goblins have overrun our town. My brother and I arrived at the new Hamlet Rockfalls after a long struggle eastward, the last living of a dozen refugees. We were fortunate to have heard of the new fortress being constructed. We thought we might wait for a caravan there, or even settle. It was our only hope.

When we arrived, we found nothing but a lake of fire.

[Dante]

This ere's th' bloody Songbook of Karakzon the Butcherin' Bard, innit?

Oi there. I'm Karakzon, me, and me twin passions be butcherin' things and singin' things. In me youth I was a spry young whippet and I didn't mind the sunlight, so they used to send me out gatherin' plants. Later me excellent eyes an' nimble fingers made me the perfect fellow for gem-settin'. Since then, I've gathered tales instead of plants, and set words to rhyme instead of gems to stone.



16 Sandstone 202

Anyway, this book here I'm keepin' for accountin' for all the animals that need slaughterin' in Rockfalls.

By my reckonin' we've got too many poultry, and not enough cattlebeasts. The powers that be were worried that grazin' livestock wouldn't hold up too well inside all the time, but turns out we've plenty of feed available. Ah well.

So: we have a breeding pair each of peafowl, ducks, geese (and a gosling), guinea fowl, turkeys. Only one pair o' chickens, too! Bleedin' shame, I love me some chickens, and there ain't many yet. Goden won't let me axe any of the birds, but there's a dozen hounds and a half dozen puppies, so we've got dogs to spare. Three cats and two kittens, too – an ill omen in me personal reckonin'.

Someone's pet ewe is hangin' around, but I won't be able to butcher that ol' girl until I find out who owns her and work out a cunnin' plan.

Oh, and one ghost. I 'ear it's the felluh who got himself burned to a crisp buryin' this place in magma. He don't seem able to speak. His corpse is kickin' around too, somewhere. I wonder if ya can butcher a ghost? What if I take a cleaver to the body, will that dismember the bleedin' spook at the same time?

20 Sandstone 202

McClay the Potter is now an adequate glassmaker. The fortress is gonna be relyin' on glass a bit, I imagine. We've got an un-bloody-believable amount o' stone stockpiled, but it's handed out grudgingly. Babes' beards, I can't believe we'll run out o' rock in a decade o' decaden' decoratin', but orders are orders. The sand 'neath our feet seems damn near infinite.

Once we've got some decent fungiwood growin' we'll have ash, too, for clear and better glass. I wonder if you can make glass so clear, it's invisible? Would that sorta glass be able to cut a ghost? We'll have to see.

24 Sandstone 202

I was tryin' to work out exactly who I had to get the nod from to start cuttin' things up. Bleedin' 'eck, it turns out it's Forumite's job to sort it out. She's a bloody recluse is what she is – dabbled in threshing once, didn't like it, and basically lives in a little world of 'er own. And she got her mitts on the manager's job!

Actually, it turns out it's a good thing. Goden got stung by bee and had to be carried off to 'is room when 'is foot swelled up. Babes' bloodied beards, what a wuss.



I figger the bees are goin' wild since our first wild-growing crops have sprouted.

28 Sandstone 202

Squadron Leader's organised a rotatin' guard. Later on there'll be militia trainin' and calisthenics and things to keep the rest o' us in shape. For now, it's just six guards: Squadron Leader, Jitters, Skink-Killer, McClay, an' Bowie. That mason Bowie, by the by, is trainin' a wolf to hunt, to “give 'im an edge”. Bleedin' 'ell.



Wha's that? That's only five guards, not six? Well, yur right there.

They say that Stool's joined th' guard, but I reckon it's more jus' to get him out of us hard-workin' dwarves' hair. Bleedin' ponce, swannin' around in 'is fancy clothes, insultin' my singin', scowlin' at me 'armless spittin'. The other day he tol' me my vocabulary ain't enough to string together a dirty limerick, let alone an epic poem! Bloody 'eck, what cheek. I know hundreds of dirty limericks.

Never 'eard of an epic poem, though. The sod prob'ly made it up.

Well, here's hopin' Stool dies in trainin'. But if he comes back to bleedin' haunt us, I'll have to move my ghost-butcherin' esperikiments for'ard fast.

[Dante]

Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 9 Opal 202

My hands! My poor, fat-encrusted hands!



But I'm almost there.

I am swimming in tallow. The entire upper floor is so greasy that people have to walk around on their hands and knees because they can't stand upright without slipping.



Valrandir's been diligently brewing vital, vital alcohol from the first crops of our new farms, as well as hauling food around, checking on those bloody bees, and tanning hides from the kittens Karakzon has slaughtered. Valrandir works silently, right next to me, without faltering. It's easy to see how he became so skilled.



...15 Opal 202
I'm done! I'm done!!!!!!!!! Apparently it's winter now, and I missed the solstice. Months have flown by over the rendering pan and fat shovel.

Of course, you can't tell that it's winter here, surrounded on all sides by the roar and glow of magma.

Hmmm. I came out of my cooking trance and they've built a bunch of rooms and moved the furniture around and generally tidied the place up. I approve.

Now, I hope I still have that recipe for tallow waffles...

[bowie]

YAY!
Zazzy! 
I feel like a dual steel scimitars but I'm guessing that's not possible. 

[Yoink]

Just imagine how that fat would SMELL with the heat... Urgh! :/
I love this story.

[Karakzon]

a request:

just never make my character say innit or chav speak.

dirty bard drunk sure. but i draw the line at chav speak. xP

[Forumite]

Noooo!
Forumite has more important things to do that taking care of the wounded. Could you remove the recover wounded, treat patient and clean labors?

Hmmm, I´m a manager? Sweet, that works, walking around and bickering at people for misplacing their socks.

[Will_Tuna]

FPS death?

[Dante]

Nope, university essays. I'm up to my ass in Fregean alligators and trying to drain a Meinongean swamp.
I'll try to get something up today.

[Dante]

Journal of Stool the Dairy Guard, adventurer of the High Tools, 4 Obsidian 202

Skink-Killer and Goden had their first child, a beautiful baby girl. She's adorable. Luckily I got there before Surray's mothering instincts homed in, so I could meet the baby properly without getting caught in a whirlwind of insane middle-aged cooing.

Billy Bob was quiet taken with the child, too, to the extent that – sigh – she took it upon herself to tell her future, predicting her personality and qualities with what I can only assume is uncanny accuracy.



Skink-Killer, beer in hand, was intent on calling the child "Ballslinger", after her hard-case grandmother. I kid you not. Fortunately, Goden had the presence of mind to suggest that, since the prophecy suggested she liked fish, they name her 'Tuna'. So Tuna it is.

So, the fortress's first baby: a good sign. Come to think of it, Squadron Leader's looking a bit rounder than usual these days. I was going to slip the word to her that I could let out some of her pants, or even dash her up a muumuu, but I might just wait and see what happens.

In other news, we have completely run out of wood. This troubles me, and it clearly troubles Dariush. That crotchety old fool is sitting in the revolting muck of the lower level, clutching an axe, and peering between our six saplings with a ferocious expression. People's routes around the room are quite circuitous, to avoid trampling any tree and thus inciting his wrath.

Personally, I'm more excited to see the dimple cups growing wild. That dimple blue dye is to, pardon the pun, die for.