9th Sandstone
Autumn began uneventfully. My opulent quarters were dug out, smoothed, and furnished; engraving continues at the moment. Now if only I could limp down there to see them. I'm tired of resting in this drafty statue garden when everyone around me has their own rooms.
It was not until over a month had passed that something noteworthy happened. A beekeeper, one Ustuth Deglokum, had a sudden shift in personality and began obsessing over something called Aralenkos.
He booted the craftsdwarf out of his workshop, gathered some conglomerate, leather, and bone, and began a mysterious construction.
So far, par for the course. My only question is... seriously? Conglomerate? The only uglier stone that exists is puddingstone. Even
microcline would be preferable to conglomerate, the color and texture of a seriously nasty bowel movement.
Ah well. I may as well see what he makes.
13th Sandstone
More migrants. I may just have to drown myself in dwarven wine.
18th Sandstone
The beekeeper emerged from the workshop in a daze clutching an amulet the color of excrement. Apparently he named it "Womantook," a name I can only associate with sexual dysfunction of some kind. Maybe he can't get laid because he keeps making conglomerate amulets or something.
22nd Sandstone
I have recieved word that my chambers have been totally engraved and furnished.
Even though I cannot occupy them... it makes me feel proud just to know I own them.
Still, I feel uneasy. I know my time left here is brief... sooner or later they will forget about me, sooner or later I will no longer be given food or forced to drink disgusting flavorless water. Soon I shall starve to death, or die of thirst, and even if it is in ten years, I will never be able to so much as occupy the chambers I ordered built to my specifications. They shall simply molder.
I intend on resigning come spring. Therefore, I wish to make a decree while I still hold authority. Let no one break this decree until this fortress crumbles to dust.
The magnificent chambers on the bedroom level, consisting of a throne room, a bedroom, and a private dining room, shall belong to whomsoever holds authority in this fortress, for however long that authority lasts. Upon ceding said authority to a new person, these rooms shall also be ceded to said new person.
In addition, each authority-holder should dig his own grave, as a reminder of his mortality and a caution against hubris. Obviously I can't do any digging myself, but I shall at least order a tomb dug for myself and for Crazy Cow.
I envision that new tombs shall be dug along this hallway for each overseer. Hopefully, in a few years, the hallway shall no longer resemble a cock'n'balls.
16th Timber
A caravan showed up today. Hopefully we can get some new seeds... we have no pig tails, and our booze variety is suffering as a result. I swear, I will throttle whoever thought bringing dimple cup spawn was a good idea.
At my urging, and also a
little blackmail (it's amazing what uncovering a fortress-wide mass-murder attempt can do to let you influence a person), Crazy Cow ordered wood from the liason. Loads of wood.
On the trading front, I asked the broker what he thought the best goods to trade were. He pointed wordlessly at our food stockpile. Come to think of it...
All the traders look like they haven't eaten in months. They were watching our well-fed, rather portly dwarves
with a mixture of envy and contempt, and a few of them were actually drooling at the smells coming from the kitchen. And indeed, they were willing to pay outrageous premiums for good food, which we had in abundance.
We managed to purchase a large amount of essential goods; many logs, bins of leather and silk cloth, the needed seeds to get our booze operations running again, and of course more food (which of course the caravan couldn't have eaten themselves... these were trade goods! There's be bureaucratic hell back at the Mountainhomes if so much as one dragonfly brain was unaccounted for!) to be processed by our cook, who I must really think about giving a promotion. The caravan also took our gift of *donkey tallow roast*s and devoured them standing, crying tears of joy.
_________
1st Moonstone
And with that, autumn gives way to winter. My time here is drawing to a close, and I begin to think about the legacy I might leave this fort. I think that I have succeeded in making our fort a pleasant place to live... the chatter I hear from my horrid rest-bed is generally positive.
Nobody has died on my watch, which I am truly thankful for. Of course, three months of winter still loom... I should not grow complacent.
OOC: Crazy Cow, do you have any preferences for how you want your tomb decorated? Mine's all done, but yours is pretty much a blank slate so far since I don't know what you would prefer in or out of character.