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[kisame12794]

0.0 ummmm lol?

[Yoink]

This has to be one of the most entertaining things I've read on the internet! Bahaha!
Keep it up. Could we have some more pictures, though? Perhaps A diagram of the place?
...I'm still kinda lost. :/

[Malorn]

+3

Very impressive story.    I'll take a dorfing if there's any new children born.

[Dante]

20 Granite 203: “Some migrants have arrived”

Rockfalls, against our expectations, has turned out to be a severely beaten camel with a dead dwarf wedged between its humps. It is lit by the glow of a pit of magma of unprecedented size.

There are 21 of us. We will not all fit inside this camel.

Things are not looking up.

[Dante]

Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 22 Granite

Things are looking up! We have penned all the animals in an area against the warm walls of the chamber housing the magma forge. They are looking quite comfortable there. As are we, without all those damn animals running around!

We've also fenced the laying poultry into the nest box area with extremely fine netting – marvellous stuff, you can hardly tell it's there.

Hopefully we won't see too much horseplay amongst the puppies and turkey poults with them confined to a smaller space.

[Dante]

Journal of Kisame the Herbalist-Armourer, 2 Slate 203

I have never seen so much blood in all my life.

[Dante]

~♥♥♥ Diary of Billy Bob, Jeweller ♥♥♥~

3 Slate 203
Goden is making me go into the room with the red walls and take the animals out again! The noise is all hissy and yippy and squawky, I don't know why.
The animals are slippery too!


5 Slate 203
I got bit by a puppy!

9 Slate 203
The fortress is so pretty these days! But the walls and furniture keep moving, it's hard to keep track of things!


12 Slate 203
I saw a funny statue!

Jugs are fun!
I saw a scary statue too, though!
Glass is pretty but the bug-bat creature's eyes glittered at me!
I don't know if I want to learn to make glass if this is what happens!

14 Slate 203
Rance and Bowie had a baby! A little boy, he's so round and cute, and he looooves cows, just like me! It's funny because they're calling him Malorn! And he doesn't even like melons! Strawberry wine and tigers, yes. Melons, no!

[Dante]

Diary of a dying Migrant, 11 Felsite 203

All is lost. The twenty-one of us managed to build a tiny fortress where Rockfalls was supposed to be, but did not even time to put a roof on it. We butchered all our animals. There is no grass on this landscape, not a speck. Just rags, shards of rock, endless sand... and the bones of dead dwarves.

Today, the goblins arrived.

I hide in a hole to pen these words, but they have come for me. There will be no survivors.

[Dante]

Journal of Stool the Dairy Guard, adventurer of the High Tools, 6 Hematite 203

Spring is in the air. Or, I suppose, early Summer now.

A couple of days ago, Mrs Oassis gave birth to a girl. Guess she, uh, must have got pregnant just before Stukos died? I guess. I guess that's it. That's what everybody keeps saying with straight faces, anyway.

This morning, Forumite the manager also gave birth to a girl. Flintus the Tenth is the father. Parents like those... I pity the poor child.

I'm not sure of either child's name yet.

12 Hematite

Forumite was lugging stones around, scowling, with her baby on her back. Then, she suddenly gets this vacant expression on her face, like she's about to withdraw from society... withdraw even more than usual, I mean. She's not exactly talkative at the best of times. Probably comes of being married to the bearded incarnation of rage.

So, Forumite headed off to the pasture, walked straight through Stukos, jumped into a craft shop, and started to whimper about wood.

There's plenty of saplings in the muck, but not a scrap of wood left in the fortress.

I don't think this is going to end well.

On the bright side, though, the first of the new batch of beer is ready! Praise be to Skink-killer and Valrandir for their efforts! We drowned a lizard in the first batch, as is traditional, and lifted our flagons high.

4 Malachite, 203

Jitters McHighland has given birth to a girl.

What is this, the Century of Babies? I'm going to go get drunk.

[Dante]

From the Journal of McClay the Crafter, 16 Malachite, 203

_{Bloody Billy Bob and her bloody eager eyes and her bloody squeaky voice, coming over here and working at my bloody furnace and} … huh?

Etur Noramfikod, ghostly stonecrafter, has risen and is haunting the fortress!
…
Oh, and some of his bodies buddies. Outta my way, mister, I'm melting sand.
...
Dear gods, this is becoming a complete clusterhaunt.
...Wait, who? I've never heard of an 'Etur'.
...

Oh.
...
Um.
Apparently the goblin menace has been growing ever stronger, battering against the outlying dwarven bastions. And the outside world has been seeking refuge at our gates.
And dying in droves.
...
What's the message you have born unto the material realm for us, Mr Etur?
Oh, more migrants, just now?
...
And some of the goblins are still hanging around on the surface?
...
Um.
Well, the ghost says the good news is that a tiny handful of them survived.
…
Perhaps he'd be so good to go and tell them what's going on?
...
Oh, apparently not. He's imparted his message and is now going to stand around in the middle of the drink stockpile, staring at us with haunted eyes.

That's-

That's just fine.

[Dante]

From the Notes of Skink-Killer the Miner, 17 Malachite

By the golden crotch-beard of Omer the Iron Fortune!

That was the spookiest beer I've ever had.

[CatalystParadox]

Incredible.

Posting to follow, and I'd also like to request a Dorfing as one of those many doomed migrants.  With a little luck, I'll haunt the fortress!  Name - Catalyst.

[Dante]

Journal of the elder Dariush, 28 Malachite 203

Grow, blast you trees, grow. Forumite's stopped eating as she shouts for timber, and the poor thing was thin as a stick to begin with, even my old eyes can see that.

Grow, damn it – oh.

Yarf tells me she's given up trying, and snapped. The poor gal's wandering the fortress, stricken with melancholy. Meanwhile, there're fifteen slender saplings by my reckoning still growing on the bottom floor here.

That young dwarf, whatsisname – that's it, Goden. Goden's ordered all the fortress's cats killed in a gesture of solidarity. I have no idea what that whippersnapper think he's about, but that strange singing butcher chap seems happy enough to get his hands on those pussy-cats.

Oh, young Rance has taken over as manager and bookkeeper. Hmmph. I'm a better engraver than her any day of the week, for all that I can't quite make out the difference between my chisels any more. Engraving's mainly in the touch, not the sight, that's what I say!

O'course, my eyes are all for that nice Surray gal these days. She's a lovely lass, all growing things and tilling the earth and sharpening her fingernails. Plenty of flesh on her bones, and sometimes her voice goes all dark and boomy, which is damnably attractive. Dwarves of our age can't afford to be picky anyway!

I swear, back when I was shipwrecked I would've gone for a dwarf twice her age and a beard twice as unkempt. Eh? Oh, there goes whatsername, um, Forumite. Wonder what she's moping about.

[Dante]

Journal of Goden, Expedition Leader of the Assembly of Smiths, 22 Limestone 203

Let it be recorded that Forumite, she who tried to craft a work of great art and failed, has perished. Our medical dwarf Surray determined it was from not eating or drinking.

The death words were spoken but the coffin shortage is worrying enough that I have ordered her body left alone, to lie in state. We will revisit this issue at a later date.

Let it not be said that I am uncaring! I immediately took a survey to measure the impact of this tragedy on the fortress.

Seven dwarves described themselves as ecstatic.
Three dwarves qualify as happy.
Eight dwarves appear content. Amongst their number is Flintus, the recent widower. I note he still flies into rages about the wambler problem. His distress appeared ameliorated by his admiration for a glass support pillar he built with his own hands.

Of the children, two appeared ecstatic, four content, and one generally fine.
One, however, was “Very unhappy”. This was Forumite's baby. I have ordered that Karakzon take time from his varied duties to caper and recite humorous poems for the child.


2 Sandstone

It appears that Kisame the warrior-herbalist has now withdrawn from society, mumbling about a psychologically revolutionary masterpiece. I have ordered a forge built for him next to the beehives, where his work shall be expedited by pleasant buzzing.


9 Sandstone

Let it be known that Kisame took four dog bones, a length of llama wool dyed blue, and a sizeable lump of platinum, to produce a work of great quality.

Kisame says that the pants represent the bipartite nature of the mind. The fact that they are made of platinum chain mail, he adds, refers to the twin mental traits of flexibility and strength, which must be esteemed above all else.



The Tangled Breaker is decorated with dog bone, encircled with bands of platinum (Kizame tells me he had garters in mind), and are covered in menacing spikes representing the nobility of the soul. The spikes are knitted from llama wool.


7 Timber

In the face of the many proposals to engrave the fortress I have received, I have commissioned workers to carve pictures in the newest livestock room as a trial scheme.

Delightful artwork will offset all the blood quite nicely.

[Dante]

Journal of Catalyst the migrant, 11 Timber 203

Greetings, future dwarves or whoever finds this. I do not expect to survive here long, so wish to record some of what has befallen us.

After a dog and two wild camels finally drove off the goblin assault, I picked up a pick while one of my companions picked up a mason's trowel, and together we built a tiny walled-off compound. A handful of stragglers arrived at our doors, and finally we had enough workers that I could focus on one of my crafts: mechanics.

Though a spinner by trade, a bone carver by talent and a beekeeper by hobby, I did take an engineering course once. This may already have saved our lives. I am trapping our entranceway to strike mercilessly at the goblin raiders who crawl over the desert landscape like flies on a bloated corpse.



Our tiny corner of nowhere, which we have not bothered to name, is filled with the wounded, the dead, and the moaning ghosts of dwarves past. We have been working flat-out to bury, protect and dig. Then, thanks be to Ust the Cloudy Cacti, we spotted human merchants on the desert track a mile in the distance. After flagging them down, we bartered to them the battered remains of some elf traders that lay on the sands when we got here. In return, we have enough food, and a small supply of weapons.



I find immodesty distasteful, so the half-dressed wounded and the torn-up bodies lying everywhere have me constantly on edge. Fortunately I don't care for great art or architecture, or I would have died into the magma moat by now.

My rabbit, Dakost Strifefulroof, is my only friend. I rescued him from the cages of the dead elves and named him after the volleys of goblin arrows that flew in through the top of our fortress last Monday, killing two.

Fortunately, the goblins left after their leader was cut down by an axe I had set to swing from the wall when a certain place on the ground was trodden upon.

There is no grass here. I can only assume that Dakost is foraging on the dead.

I go, now, to sponge the head of Morul, mother of two. We have no doctor. She has a broken leg, tattered arms, a sucking chest wound and bruises all over.

Soon, I suspect, she will be rabbit fodder.