Well, MY village didn't last.
Things started out really good. Harvested surface plants and got farmland set up both above and underground. Built my desired highway and a few nice houses for my starting 7 that had not only above ground living space and basement breweries, but subbasement familial tombs as well.
Problem was that I'd got too use to playing with a tiny population thanks to Clan of the Cave Spider, so having about 25 migrants turn up on my doorstep in the third immigration wave _alone_ caught me completely unprepared. By the start of the second year, my population doubled in one go. Plenty of food and booze at first (so much sweet, sweet booze) but nowhere NEAR enough shelter, beds, dining room space, ect...
Did my best to accommodate them with work and temporary shelter, but migrate waves just kept coming. Apparently the fabled brews of our already-legendary brewer were all it took to make EVERY dwarf want to move to this humble village (the stone block highways possibly as well). They drank us dry, ate all the plants and animals (slaughtered nearly everything and cooked every egg in sight to try to keep people fed, to no avail), stole the beds in the hospital for themselves...
Labor force allowed me to get my massive brewery established along the side of the stream, but then there was almost never anything left to brew. Which also meant we had nothing to trade to the elves or even the second-year caravan except a bunch of empty barrels (which I DID trade to the dwarves, though we did not get enough to last us out a month in return). Starvation hit, along with complaints about drinking nasty water, lack of tables, lack of chairs, beds, weather - everything.
In the end, we didn't even survive to the first military raid. Dwarves just started rampaging. Tantrums were thrown, furniture heaved about. I don't know who started the first fist fight, but it swiftly escalated into a full-scale riot as dwarves began to slaughter one another left and right. I sealed whoever I could into safe locations, but it seemed like whenever more than one shared a space, one was bound to go mad and assault the other. The few who didn't go violently crazy just went quietly mad instead. Some committed suicide. Some headed for the hills to live as naked jibbering madmen. One of them somehow got into the cistern I'd made for clean water within the brewery, thus lacing everything with dwarf blood and resulting in only more misery to those left alive. Any tools I had were now in the hands of murderous madmen and the already-tiny food supply was being guarded by one.
About 8 or so sane dwarves somehow lingered in isolation within the brewery, eating bugs and drinking water tainted with the blood of their own kind. Another migrant wave arrived, but efforts to draft them into a militia to kill the dozen or so madmen only resulted in the new comers being slaughtered (wasn't a weapon among them). Third year elves turned up and were killed or chased off. The crazies owned the hosues, they controlled the streets. Finally, I could watch the suffering no more and put an end to the universally miserable survivors by collapsing the brewery onto their heads (yes, my brewery had a kill-switch cause... well, you never know, right?). One actually survived for a day or two afterwards with massive headwounds, until an axe-wielding madman came along and cut his arm off.
Let this be a cautionary tale to you all: do not let the liquor industry into your small town. It brings nothing but trouble.