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Author Topic: Rockfalls the Depths of Volcanoes ~ The story of 20 dwarves in a pressure cooker  (Read 70167 times)

Karakzon

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Very nice.

i guess its when the outside dwarfs manage to get strong enought to drain the big lava lake that well morph into a fully fledged fortress etc :P gonna be interesting in the long run.

-fingers crossed the guy outside lives-
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I am Dyslexic. No its not going to change any time soon.
Bolts of Exsanguination THE terrifying glacier export, get yours today!

Yoink

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Holy heck, this is such an entertaining read! I was actually laughing out loud as I read that last page... :D
You manage to perfectly balance tension and humour... I see myself actually becoming attatched to these dwarves. :P Keep it up! This is great!
Good luck to the surface-dwellers, also. Can't BELIEVE that guy actually managed to scrape together traps, when I STILL haven't managed it after however many fortresses... :/
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Booze is Life for Yoink

To deprive him of Drink is to steal divinity from God.
you need to reconsider your life
If there's any cause worth dying for, it's memes.

CatalystParadox

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\o/!

I'm a badass!

Now to somehow train the rabbit to war...
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Dante

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Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 22 Timber 203

The engravings in the west wing are finished. And they're fairly spectacular. There is just one problem.

Through an incredible lack of forethought, Goden ordered Forumite's body left alone... in the room being engraved... the room where we used to keep random furniture... and then where we kept livestock.

Bowie's wolf and a couple of the dogs are taking nips from the disgusting rotting body whenever nobody is watching. It's quite distressing, especially since we're not lacking for food. I take pride on my cooking, and now we have people – well, animals – feeding off the grisly decomposed carrion that was once a dwarf we knew.

But damn, some of these engravings are just genius! Nice.

Mrs Oassis has drawn an image of Dariush weeping, after he was briefly made expedition leader in the winter of 202. The artwork is called 'The Weak Catch', which he really was. It was only a clerical error which gave him the job, for the space of about two hours, during which he drafted a bylaw prohibiting 'the squalling of errant babies'.

She has also depicted Goden becoming expedition leader. Several times over, in fact. One is entitled “The Empty Vise”; another “The Perplexing Tool”; a third, “the Deep Muds”.

Then there's a depiction of the really nice jug Flintus once made, which has appeared in statues, figurines, gem crafts and pictures all around the fort. Even thinking about it now, I can't believe how nice that jug was!

Mrs Oassis was also ordered to carve a picture of Squadron Leader becoming militia commander. The miner-soldier stood over her as she worked, ensuring the best quality artwork. But as soon as she left, Mrs Oassis named it “The Tick of Images”, after Squadron Leader. I'm not sure I'd have the stones to call one of our managers a parasite, but there you go.

Of course, Mrs Oassis's unique sense of humour has extended to many of her other pictures. The founding of the hamlet is shown as “The Calamitous Belly”, “The Fed Maggot” and “The Weasel of Weavers”. I don't even know.

In a fit of creative energy, she made numerous engravings of the poor beleaguered migrants those ghosts told us about, out on the surface. Said migrants are universally drawn as dying, falling, burning, or lying still with fatal illnesses.

Then there is “The Lamb of Evenness”, referring to Surray. It was originally going to be un-evenness but then Mrs Oassis lost her nerve. The engraving portrays Surray raising up Cultdaub the Violator of Crows. Next to the image is one of Surray becoming our chief medical dwarf. Food for thought.

Finally, after drawing the humble fruitbat, her personal nemesis, she ran out of ideas and drew a strange recursive image, appropriately named The Ordered Spiral.


Other engravers tried their hand at carving, although not as many as there would have been, given the corpse lying in the middle of the room. Skink-Killer drew a nice picture of valley herbs, which she says can be smoked, chewed, brewed, sniffed, or rubbed into the feet. She also carved an image of five-pointed stars. She calls it “the Useless Seal”. It's quite a funny dig at one of Goden's more boring official government stamps. I don't know how she handles being married to that dwarf, but it's possible that, in her near-perpetual drunken haze, she hasn't actually noticed.

Squadron Leader, while ordering Mrs Oassis around, also idly drew some jagged clouds, the image of our civilisation. She called it “The Appearance of Bolts”, after the massed crossbow fire which can darken the sky like thunderclouds. Unsatisfied, she drew another one right nearby, exactly the same, and called it the exact same thing. Weird.

In other fortress news, Dariush the ancient carpenter just proposed to Surray, the farmer of doom. She accepted.
I would imagine that after mating, she will wrap him in silk and eat him.
Or perhaps she wants him for fertiliser.

Dante

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Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 22 Moonstone 203

Forumite's poor baby, Olin, has been a bit underfoot since the poor dwarf died. Whose job was it to look after the sprog? Surely we weren't assuming that her father, the eternally angry Flintus the Tenth, would care for her?

I ask because she just died of thirst, dropping onto a pile of crundle liver roasts in the middle of the meadow.
What a pointless tragedy.

Those poor, poor roasts.

elizar

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Even if it is just a baby, I'll join up. This seems to be pretty interesting to follow. I'll take the oldest unclaimed kid, gender doesn't matter. Elizar male, Eliza female.
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A quick scan of the stocks menu shows that one of the dead pack animals has a bin full of silk cloth!  It is speedily unforbidden, and my moody glassmaker sprints off to retrieve his prize amongst the smoking, charred, blood-soaked ruin that is the outdoors, totally oblivious to the carnage that was instigated on his behalf.

Thatdude

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Great story so far. I'm really liking the bits about the outside fort. I will be following this.

Not sure if I want to claim one of the million babies in the magma fort or a one of the migrants of the outside fort... hmmm. I'll go for a brave dude on the outside. A mason will be cool.
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CatalystParadox

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Join me, brother.  We must never give up the fight - the dwarven spirit shall prevail!

Also, if you feel at all inclined to mod - I humbly request making rabbits trainable as beasts of war. 
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Ahra

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holy.....
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And then the horror hits: This was just spring.
We are SOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo fucked.
Quite fucked indeed.

Vorthon

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I so want in on this...
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acehawk

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Read the whole thing and I must say, simply amazing. Could I be dorfed as a migrant, preferably a soldier or a smith? Named Hawkeye please  :P
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Dante

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Journal of Kisame the Legendary Armourer, 4 Opal 203

I find myself at a loose end now that my life's masterwork has been created. I play with my ten-month-old son, Maxrmk, roaring like a lion for him, or I walk the cluttered halls of Rockfalls.

One point of interest has brightened up my day. Forumite's ghost has recently risen and is following Flintus the Tenth, complaining about her dead baby and the disastrous lack of a stockpile of wood in the fortress.

He managed to ignore her at first, face locked in his typical rictus of rage, but has just now started throwing a temper tantrum. 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.

Goden is muttering more than ever about “cracking down on unregulated hauntings”, and “on whom are we to call”. After seeing our sky-mad leader walk by, Flintus calmed down.

While I think of it, allow me to mention Eliza Stukosdaughter, the half-year old baby of our resident dead carpenter and war hero, Stukos, and the passive-aggressive Mrs Oassis.

Though young, she already has a way with words. Apparently she likes yaks for their shaggy hair, which is understandable, perhaps, except that she's never seen a yak. She also dislikes contracts and regulations. Maybe the fact that our leader Goden forbade the burial of her father has something to do with it, and now her sister is having a breakdown from the hauntings. Or perhaps it's because Squadron Leader irks her mother so much.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Vorthon

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Could I be dorfed as the male child born?
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Dante

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Hmm, the only male child still alive is a wounded refugee.
There's a baby girl in Rockfalls, and a pair of refugee girls on the surface.
I could give you any of those.

Dante

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Thadtude, mason/herbalist of the outsiders, speaks. 9 Opal, 203. We are in the chill of mid-winter.

One of the refugee children, a recent orphan, stands in a pool of her own blood, having a conversation with a ghost. Meanwhile, Catalyst continues to take breaks from his trapcraft to train a rabbit for war. He refuses to recognise the possibility that it will die of starvation.

This strikes me as a good metaphor for our outpost as a whole.

It is time for roll-call.
First and, perhaps, foremost, me and Catalyst are doing most of the work in our reeking, filthy, fortified camp. However, there are several other able-bodied refugees: a Stonecrafter/Appraiser, an animal dissector, a brewer and a child.

Also there is the iron-willed Hawkeye, whose stomach is a mess of scars from goblin blades, but is a capable metalsmith. She's been helping with the traps until we have forges up and running. We now have enough snares, pitfalls and swinging blades to take out one raiding party of goblins. Gods help us if we are sieged.

Then, of course, there are the walking wounded, who number just two since Hawkeye healed and another was cut down by greenskins.
The first is a siege engineer stumbling about on a broken leg, trying to keep up with butchery and the new flow of food from the trade depot.
Then there is the quiet one, who we're calling 'ViolencePlanks' for the way he killed a goblin invader with a length of four-by-two. He's a miner, animal trainer, animal dissector, butcher, trapper, weaponsmith and metalsmith. He also has a cut hand. If that gets infected, he won't survive. Soap itself would wither and fade in this blasted desert.

And finally, the bedridden, whose chances I would rate as 'not high'.
The worst off is a herbalist who is little more than pulpy mess. It is a great pity; she is trained in combat.
Then there is our useless militia captain, who lies in bed with minor scarring. And finally, a child with a broken leg.

Meanwhile, the mountainhomes has sent out officials to to try to gather accurate information on the extent of the goblin scourge sweeping our lands like a black tide. One of them reached our volcanic desert, and has been dragging himself inch by inch towards our gates for the last month.

If he makes it, all well and good. But we have better things to do than attend to him.
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