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Yes, make a new world and start the story over!  It's not a true Dwarf Fortress without Goblin Claus!

4 (30.8%)

No, it's fine.  I prefer to see the story as is run its course.

9 (69.2%)

Total Members Voted: 13

[Urist_McArathos]

It was summertime in the prison, which meant that the ponds had thawed for a week or so before the cold returned them to ice.  Snow was on the ground in patches, and a breeze was whipping through the forest, southwards towards the glacial permafrost and the thinning treeline.  Three new guards had arrived with the spring's exiles, and were already being set to work on the camp.  There was lots of work to be done; Dishmab had decided to get to enforcing the rules about daily prison life, which required separate stockpiles and storage for the guards and their supplies, to say nothing of living quarters.  It was like building a subterranean fortress and a prison at the same time, but thankfully she had the less than willing hands of her charges.  While the other guards brought down furniture and supervised the miners in digging out their future home, Dishmab continued to work in her barren clay tunnel, scratching away at crude plans and stockpile notes.

"Timber!"  The call was echoed by the snapping and crackling of a pine tree smashing through the canopy and landing on the forest floor, its fall punctuated by a cloud of powder.  When the snow settled, a group of prisoners picked up the tree and carried it away to the camp; in the distance the staccato thump of axes on wood signified more work on trees throughout the forest.  The new guard, Tape, was stationed at the bridge with a wooden truncheon; the only weapons they had at the moment were their fists and stout wooden sticks for cracking heads.  The prisoners shuffled past him and onwards with their load, making their way to the southern foundry.  The massive clay building was still not roofed, and it's half finished skeleton let snow and debris blown in, and down the stairs into the underground storeroom where the tree was destined.  There it was hewn crudely into more manageable pieces and stored alongside the stone, ore, and other raw materials that were destined to be worked in this part of the prison. The prisoners made their way back outside to find the next fallen tree while Tape watched them pass by.  He stared off into the distance, leaning a bit against the wooden wall that flanked the drawbridge.  He adjusted his thick woolen mittens, silently thanking Dishmab for the news that soon they'd have waterproof leather gloves for him to wear over them.  As he was looking to the horizon, musing to himself, he felt a pickup in the breeze, and squinted at the sky.  Clouds were shifting, and although he was new here, he'd been trained to warn the others about danger and how to notice it.

"Snow storm coming in!  Get inside or get digging!"  The alarm was quickly raised, and the prisoners came rushing in from the forest to hide in the shelter of their crude bunkhouse.  Tape lost count after the seventh, or was it the ninth, one that dashed past him.   No time to worry about it, he gave the all clear and ran to the bunkhouse to lock the inmates in before running to the earthen tunnel.  Dishmad glanced up at him as he entered, followed shortly after by the other two guards on the surface.  "Snow storm, Warden!  Looks like the nice days of summer are over already."

"Hmm.  Alright, let's put up the wooden screen, try to keep the snow out of here while we're stuck."


Amost set down her axe, taking a deep breath.  Cutting down trees with inferior axes was miserable work, but there wasn't enough proper metal to spare; not that they'd trust an inmate with a combat quality one anyway.  She looked around for the others that were supposed to help her haul the tree, but there wasn't anyone close by.  She paused and noticed that it was quiet all around her.  Just as she was starting to consider sneaking off or finding her way back, a cold wind blew through the trees and made her shiver; it seemed to suck the heat from her very bones, and a blast of snow soon followed its second gust.  A snow storm!  She hadn't heard the alarm when she was busy chopping.  She grabbed the axe and made her way south, but it was too late for that.  Soon the storm was upon her, and it was white all around her.  She was determined to make it though, and resolutely put one foot before the other, trying to keep her path straight; she knew she was almost directly north of the prison; with care she'd hit the wall and be fine.  Sure enough, there was the wooden wall!  Her heart lept, and in spite of the cursed snow scouring her face in the freezing winds she was glad.  With one hand on the wall she walked, and another blessing!  There was the bridge, she was safe now!  As she went across it, some kind of snarling sound was heard behind her.  She turned around, but something heavy slammed into her torso, knocking her backwards as she dropped her axe.  Teeth sank into her leg and she screamed, kicking madly.  She could see now though; a badger had found her during the storm, and was intent on dragging her off; from the sounds she heard, the rest of its clan was nearby, waiting.  She dragged herself backwards, kicking her leg free.  The badger was undeterred, and leapt at her again, clawing fiercely as it sank its teeth into her arm.  She screamed again, and slammed her fist down as hard as she could.  The badger let go and she rolled away from it, dragging herself towards where she thought the bunkhouse was.  She kept trying to keep her eyes open, just make it a bit further, but it was so hard in the cold and wind to focus as her adrenaline wore down and drained from her.

An hour later, the guards came out of the tunnel, and saw what looked like a frosty dwarf laying a few feet from them.  Dishmab knelt down and shook the figure, prompting Amost to bolt upright with a gasp, shaking the snow from her form.  "It tried to kill me!"  She panted.

"Calm down, #7.  What the hell's the matter with you?  Why are you outside in the storm?"  Dishmab stood up, looking down at the shivering inmate.

"A badger mauled me on my way back!  I thought it was going to finish me off when I blacked out."  She looked over her shoulder, and the guards followed her glance.

Tape walked over to the bridge, and poked a lump in the snow.  With a little kick he freed the badger from the snow, and it sat lifeless on its back.  He knelt down and felt around a bit, before nodding and standing up.  "Broken neck; must have died pretty quickly after you did that, Seven."  By now the inmates in the bunkhouse were watching, a few smirking, others just staring.

"I just punched it..."  Amost seemed a bit stunned, and shivered again.

"Someone get her warmed up before she gets hypothermia and dies on us," Dishmab walked back into the tunnel.  "And carve that badger up before it goes to waste; that's good fur and meat on it!"

[Ageofbob]

I love this, it's just so fun to read. I am requesting a dwarfing if it isn't to much trouble, a guard if you will, make sure he's a bastard who wields his power with a bit too much fervour and madness! (translation:sadistic guard)

It's nice to be an asshole when all it affects is little smiley faced dwarves.

[Conan]

Style of writing is excellent. Makes for fun reading, somewhat like fiction.

[mcclay]

very cool

[Urist_McArathos]

"Move the bed back!"  Ahra and Cheveux picked up a pinewood bed and hurriedly carried it over a furrowed patch of fire clay, shifting it carefully into place to match the others.  Soon, the prisoners had returned to their sundry affairs as the door swung open.  More snow-frosted inmates made their way inside, the howling wind outside signaling the arrival of yet another snow storm.  As the door shut, the prisoners sighed.  Brickt made his way to the door, pressing his ear against it.  After a moment, the thumbs up was given.  Shorast walked over to Ahra, and knelt down to peer under the bed.

"Nice, you can't even tell it's there."

"Nothing's there yet.  You ever tried digging into half-frozen clay?"  The weary miner replied, hopping on top of the bed.  "We've only got chunks of stray stone to work with anyhow.  Logem!  How's it coming on getting us some metal scraps?  We can fashion some crude tools easily enough if you just get us some bits to work with."

"There's no steel-working yet, boys," a female voice answered, its owner already mostly under the covers.  "They're still ordering it smelted and stockpiled.  The Warden's no fool; she intends to have a guard supervise every last piece of equipment we forge."

"You think they're on to us?" A worried dwarf inquired.

"Not likely," Ro began, "we don't have unlimited amounts of the stuff as it is, and none of it can go to waste.  It's standard procedure to monitor scraps and waste pretty heavily in distant outposts.  Hell, they've got us weaving threads for rope and cloth out of the hair we shave off slaughtered animals, and nobody makes badger wool or pig-hair thread under normal circumstances."

"Everything is going according to plan, the plan's just slow."  Ahra sighed, staring at the clay ceiling.

"What did we do to deserve this?"  Silence filled the room after the question was asked.  Nobody was sure who said it, but the question was on everyone's mind anyway.  Nobody had an answer either, at least not one they were willing to share with a room full of fellow convicts who could be there for any number of reasons.  Suddenly a sharp cry filled the room, and prisoner #13 (named Inod) thrashed a bit in her bed.

"Oh, gods!"

"What's going on!?" Number 12, Momuz, rushed to her side while the others crowded around.  "What is it?"  She moaned, her eyes screwing shut in anguish.  her hand gripped his like iron, her knuckles as white as the glacial ice outside.  By now the entire cabin was encircled around her bed, watching her pant and moan in pain.

"It's time...oh, gods, Momuz, I'm so sorry."  Another scream came from her lips, and Momuz watched her, his eyes suddenly widening as he grasped the awful truth of the situation.

"She's pregnant.  She's pregnant!"  He made his way to the foot of the bed, kneeling between her legs.  "Everyone, give her room!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"  Momuz didn't take the time to answer the question, and soon the room was abuzz with chatter.  To him, though, the world ended beyond the space around the bed.  Inod's breathing was now rhythmic and deep, a strong and controlled pant.  Every now and again she cried out in pain, her hands fastened to the bed and her face scrunched in a stoic effort to endure.  Time seemed to stand still for her and Momuz; how long this went, they weren't sure.  Finally, she fell back with a sigh, the sound of a crying infant now the only noise in the cabin.  Momuz cradled the tender thing, tears welling in his eyes.

"We're parents.  Inod, it's a girl."  He walked around, and offered the exhausted women the child.  The room was held in rapt silence until finally another of the prisoners spoke.

"You're married?  You're...she was pregnant?"

"Yes," Inod began, smiling as she looked down on her daughter, "I was.  I was going to tell Momuz, but we were arrested before I could.  I wasn't sure, to be honest; I had yet to see a midwife about it.  Once we got here," she trailed off, holding her child close.  "What are we to do?"  Her eyes looked up at Momuz, pleading with him for an answer.  While the dwarf bit his lip, barely visible under his mustache, the answer was given by a voice standing at the door.

"We tell the Warden, see what she says."  All heads in the cabin whirled around to behold a guard, one of the newest ones that had come with the autumn group, standing in the doorway.  He had seemingly entered during the commotion of her birth and had watched quietly, unnoticed during the chaos.  As he left, the couple held each other and wept, their child caught between them.


.................................................................................

Snow was blanketing the landscape come winter.  As usual, the caravan and the liaison arrived about two days before winter truly began.  As usual, fierce winds and icy snow were blasting the landscape on their arrival.  They made their way through the blizzard into a squat building just through the gate, and found the trade depot within.  The liaison shivered and brushed the snow from his shoulders while the porters unloaded the caravan.  Dishmab walked forward to greet them.  "We built a shelter for the Depot; sorry it's not heated, but it's not so bad when you're out of the wind.  I figured you'd rather be in and out promptly, than make your way down into the lower levels."

"The consideration is appreciated, Warden."  The Liaison-Mayor watched as the caravan was unloaded.  "You're on you're own after this year, sadly.  I can't get the queen to approve any more free supplies.  I did get her to up the credit to 2,000 rubles for this year, so you'll have more buying power."

"And yet more inmates and guards to supply with it.  It's not much help, but thanks anyway."  Dishmab watched as the Mayor pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands together, stamping his feet a bit.  "I've got a problem."

"I'll bet you do!" the Mayor laughed.

"I've got a newborn here; one of the cons you sent me was pregnant when she arrived."

"So?"

"So?"  Dishmab was incredulous at his blase reply.  "So what do I do with it?  We can't keep a newborn here; it hasn't done anything wrong.  Should we pardon the mother?"

"That won't happen."  The mayor blew on his hands, rubbing vigorously.  "The Queen is immobile on the subject: nobody returns.  Ever.  These criminals cannot be allowed to remain in our kingdom; it's crucial to make this place a deterrent and the kind of example we need to maintain strength and order."

"So should I tattoo the baby with a prisoner number and send it to work in the mines?" Dishmab sneered.

"Hell, I don't care what you do with it.  The baby's not guilty of anything; draft it as a guard when it's old enough, or send it to the mountainhome after it's old enough to leave.  We'll take it with the caravan when it reaches adulthood.  Fair enough?"

"That's over a decade away," Dishmab cocked an eyebrow at him.  The Mayor shrugged, and Dishmab sighed.  "Fine, we'll deal with it then."  She turned her attention to the merchant, and started pointing out the various things she wanted as he kept a tally, informing her when she got close to her limit.

"What will you need for the coming year?" the Mayor asked, following her.

"Seeds, beer, fuel, wood, and plump helmets."

"Consider it done. Now, if you've got time, I'll be discussing the Queen's requests from this place,"

((Long update; today was my day off, got a lot done!  I'm concerned that I may have set the history to be TOO long; I think I settled a continent with no other civs!  With no goblins in my future, I propose one of two solutions: Keep the story going as is, and just try to keep the prison itself interesting, or abandon, gen a new world, and start the whole gulag concept over again in a similar environment but with enemies around?  I'll make a poll so everyone can vote, and everyone will get a new dwarf first thing if I reboot the place.  It's up to you, the readers.))

[Conan]

I say keep, and breach caverns for the loss of fun from goblins.

Also, that baby dilemma is interesting. How about googling what happens to jail-babies in RL?

[Ageofbob]

I agree with Conan, keep the fortress and create your own fun!

Gotta say again, lovin' your style of writing and the story.

[Dohon]

I would actually vote to do it all over again. While this generates a loooot of extra work, it does allow a writer to have more "story-room". Prisoners could try to overpower guards during a goblin ambush. Or finish them off once they are weary after a siege. Even a revolt because a siege is coming would be possible.

But it is your choice, Urist_McArathos, since it is YOU who has to write the story.

[TapeNoot]

Stands to reason a gulag would be far from any other civs, so I'm for continuing as is.

Breach the caverns! Annoy the elves! Build megaprojects!

How does an open-pit mine through all the cavern layers sound?

[Urist_McArathos]

Outside,the snow fell gently as a springtime snowstorm made its way through the prison, but the foundry had been finished during the winter, and now the furnaces were blasting day and night, burning wood into charcoal.  Behind them, the bellows roared with life as the furnaces melted magnetite into red hot, molten rock.  Day after day, bars of solid iron were made, then stocked in the basement storeroom. 

Needless to say, it was sweltering inside.  The prisoners worked in as little clothing as they could manage.  Sweat poured from their brows and they strained under the load.  Soon, their hard work yielded pig iron, then steel.  The warden picked up the heavy ingot, smiling as she did so.  Good, weapons grade steel.  Now they could be armed.  She looked to the convict before her.  "I want battle axes.  Make it happen."  She handed the axe to Conan, who took his place behind the dwarf as the warden left.

Wearily, Logem sighed and picked up her hammer.  She had work to do.

((the votes were heavily in favor of staying the course, so we'll give it a try))

[kerlc]

yay! continuation!

i STILL haven't seen any action.No. 2, remember?

[Ageofbob]

Woo! It's back! Keep up the good work, Urist_McArathos!

[Urist_McArathos]

Down in the newly built guards' living quarters, MacDuggan and Conan set down a crate.  They began unloading the crate onto the nearby armor and weapon racks: brilliantly polished steel helms, breastplates, and a collection of axes, spears, and swords.  Tape picked up an axe, and let it swing loosely around him.  "Not bad; not bad at all.  How much longer before the rest is done?"

"Shouldn't be long," Conan wiped the sweat from his brow.  "We're getting steel cranked out as fast as the prisoners can manage, but we need more fuel.  Charcoal production is taking forever, even though we've cut down half the damned forest."  He grinned a bit as he picked up his weapon.  Dishmab walked over, peering down over their shoulders into the crate.

"Good, good.  This is just what we need for the next step."

"Eh?  What's that Warden?"

"We're never going to get this place running smoothly like this; chopping into the stone and using trees to smelt.  It'll take forever to get anything done.  We need magma.  Now that we've got weapons, we can start braving the deeps."  There was a bit of silence before Dohon climbed out of his bunk.

"How can we be sure there's magma down in the depths?"

"There's always magma if you dig deep enough."  One of the new guards, "Bob" they called him for short, offered.

"Yes, but is it really wise to dig down, and risk what may come?  Giant cave swallows, giant olms, cave spiders; it's a tremendous danger, even for skilled soldiers."

"We'll have the miners," Dishmab shrugged, turning to him.  "They'll stumble across danger before any of us; keep a few masons with you to wall the place off if there's trouble."

"You're going to send unarmed convicts into the caverns!?"  Dohon was incredulous.  "I can't do that, Warden.  It's suicide to send them in first."

"I can," Bob offered, sitting up and looking over.

"Well, we have a volunteer," Dishmab walked past Dohon and patted Bob on the shoulder.  "Round up the cons; I've got an announcement to make."


...


The early summer thaw had begun; with it, seventeen new convicts had arrived with two stout, skilled guards.  It was the biggest shipment yet, and the new arrivals were standing in the center of the yard before the trade depot with the older prisoners.  Their hands were freshly tattooed, and they shivered in spite of the mostly melted snow and ice.  The guards had them encircled, carrying their new steel weapons and wearing their steel breastplates.  Dishmab, in contrast, still wore her full suit of bronze plate while brandishing her steel axe.  The two new guards simply held wooden clubs, and had been assigned to a small wooden shack by the depot, containing a single wooden table and chair.  Dishmab stepped forward, looking the group over.

"Alright, listen up!  We're up to forty-five of you lot now, so it's time to get orderly.  You'll each be given a permanent assignment and clearance.  Level 1 clearance is for all inmates; you'll be allowed to move freely within the walls, storerooms below the surface, and outside for the sole purpose of collecting wood and plants and returning them to the proper storage areas.  Level 2 clearance is for haulers, woodcutters, and similar jobs; you'll be given access outside for longer periods of time, and allowed into the lower guards' living area for purposes of hauling food and drink to the guard mess hall, and taking stone outside to the surface.  Level 3 clearance is for the miners: you'll be allowed access to the mines above the living quarters, and the cavern expedition below.  If you are caught outside your clearance area, you will risk punishment.  Also, we are beginning rationing.  Prisoners will only be allowed food from their designated stockpile; any non-approved foods smuggled from the kitchen, or consumed by prisoners, is considered contraband and -will- result in disciplinary action.  Line up single file in numerical order, #1 at the front, going back from him."  There was some commotion, but the prisoners soon complied.  Tape leaned over to Dishmab as the convicts filed forward, and whispered to her.

"They're going to get rowdy; we're outnumbered four to one if they decide to try anything."

"I've got a plan, don't worry about that."

...

Soon Ahra, Kerlc, and Ro were hard at work, digging out more magnetite.  Out of earshot but within watching distance was the one of the newer guards, one that had apparently been assigned to watch them as they worked.  For now they were expanding the metal mines so there would be plenty of steel to keep everyone on the surface occupied, but after that they had new orders, new projects.  Ahra grunted as he hewed into the stone.

"Well, the pit's almost finished," Ro whispered, piling up some ore.  "Any word on our supplies?"

"No," Kerlc strained to bring down a large chunk of magnetite from the wall.  "Logem's saving her scraps, but it's slow going.  We may have to wait."

"We'll be fine," Ahra interrupted, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow.  "Kerlc, you need to find some parchment or something; they're having us expand the tunnels soon, and we're the only ones who know the guard levels.  We did dig them.  Ro, you make sure to work with him on it.  No good trying to go ahead with this if it'll be just the three of us."

"Think we've got a chance?" Kerlc sheltered his head as the lump came free, stone and pebbles clattering to the cave floor along with the sizable hunk of ore.

"We'll make our own chance."

[Conan]

Dwarf Fortress: The game where you make your own luck.

Keep it up, looks great so far.

[kerlc]

did i just read a masterful description of using burrows?   

awesome. keep it up!