This wretched domain has worn down all of our spirits. The speardwarves, in their heavy armor, are barely alert. The war dogs are even quiet, their ears drooping, a slouch in their walk. I feel the same way. Each step is another small triumph. My mouth is parched and my stomach yearns for sustenance. But the only thing in this accursed place is the sun and the dry dry wind.
This campaign against the goblins seemed ill-fated at best. Their domain was too far, too well-defended. But our mighty monarch, in his arrogance, has sent his dwarves marching across the world to capture the polluted and filthy domain of the goblins. To what ends? All that shall be gained are fatherless children, mourning wives, and an empty fortress at home. I don't know how many, if any, of my comrades have crossed this wasteland. But I did know that far fewer would be crossing it to go home. That was certain.
A sound draws my attention. I look up. The whine of arrows cuts through the silence. Not many, but enough, rain us. The commander throws his shield up, and an arrow bounces off. One of the wrestlers, on the left flank, begins to scream in agony. But I'm already distancing myself from the carnage. My hands instinctively wind the crossbow, and I slam a bolt into place. It's mechanical, ingrained in my mind from hours spent at the archery ranges. Crossbow up, held tight against my stomach for the harsh recoil, and fire. Not accurate, but deadly. My aim was split-second, I had but to only notice the goblin and the bolt was already away, with a heavy THRUM. Before it hit its mark, I'm already reloading.
I can hear goblin war cries echoing around us, but its distant. Drums pound in my head, in time to the pulse behind my eyes. Winch, load, position, aim, fire. Another bolt away.
The captain is next to me. He lifts his eyepatch with his sword, the way the medics told him not to do. Both eyes swivel over the field, appraising. "Lads, if you have a deity, you'd best be praying to it now. We're not gonna get outta this one alive."
I chance a glance. The black tide sweeping over the hill is more than enough to subdue the little squad I'm in. It would be enough to subdue the fortress back home. It would be enough to blot out dwarvenkind in completeness. My mouth has gone dry, and while I try to work saliva back into it, I reload. The first wave of goblins has surged into the speardwarves in front. Already a few goblins lay dying, their harsh hissing cries drowned out by the rhythmic chanting of dwarves in a battlechant. The wrestlers fly in for the flank, throwing goblins like dolls.
The captain stands there, his sword resting, tip at his feat. The two hammerdwarves next to him stand mutely, expressionless. I fire another bolt. The other marksdwarf that was with us is nowhere to be seen. Did he perish in the march?
Winch, load, position, aim, and fire.
The war dogs run past me, growling and barking. They fall into the goblins with a violent fervor. The vanguard of the goblins is crumbling. But that was only the beginning. The black tide sweeps closer. I stare in dismay, as a speardwarf is hurled bodily backwards, riddled with arrows. I stare in his sightless eyes for a moment.
"Last gasp," the captain stated nonchalantly. The two hammerdwarves flanking him raise the massive mauls and rush forward, their deep voices added to the dwarven chant that was now wavering.
"Honor serving, Captain," I manage to work out between parched lips.
"LIkewise," the captain responds, brandishing his sword and charging into battle.
Winch, load, position, aim, and fire.
I am in the midst of loading the crossbow when the first arrow strikes me. Sinking through boiled leather, the poisoned barbs burn upon entering my flesh. I gasp in pain, and fall kneeling. Around me, I see most of the dwarves riddled with arrows. Goblins are too- the arrows are indiscrimate. I manage to crook the crossbow in my shoulder. The shot is unbelievably painful, dislocating my shoulder, but I see another goblin go down hissing.
I hear the whine of another flight of arrows.
Winch, load, position-
-----
Granite, 303
For years I have wondered the world as a spirit, vengeful yet weak. I chance upon a small fortress, nestled in a river valley. The area is far from friendly, as I see all manners of vile undead about. They put up a valiant struggle though. But in some strange quirk of fate, their leader relinquishes control at the transition into the new year. There doesn't seem to be anybody willing to step up.
But here, it is my chance. I sight a peasant, milling aimlessly within the bowels of the fortress. Possession is not difficult. The dwarven spirits of old do it all the time, often leading to the greatest Dwarven artifacts being created. The time is right for me. I can do it. And that peasant shall be my vessel. That peasant... He will lead them, for the next year, at least. Enough for me to enjoy a second chance at life.
-----
So here I am, Wheelrags. What a strange name. It's almost like it was chosen at random. Personally, HellPits would be a more appropriate name, in my mind. I decide to take a quick tour of the place before I get down to business.
These are our grand defenses? A baby goblin could bumble its way through that. Cage traps are well and good for wild beasts, but if a force of any appreciable size comes our way, death won't be far off.
Plenty of bones in that... generalized stockpile. Plenty enough to make practice bolts for a person of ranged leanings... such as myself.
I was always a coal person, myself. Never thought of bothering with magma. But it gets the weapons out, so I'm not about to complain.
I have no idea what the meaning behind this is, or to what purpose it serves. When the need arises, I will cancel the engravers' orders for more masonry-oriented pursuits. However, out of respect for my predecessors, I will renew the order when I no longer need their labor. That seems fair in my eyes.
Is this a common occurrence here? A badly wounded Jeweler is in combat with an overexerted goblin.
(The dwarves were ordered to be inside when I started here, and before I really got things going [and figured out where stuff was] he had bleed to death. Not before slaying the other goblin though.)
One of my first orders was to carve out an area for workshops next to the bones themselves. Although another workshop exists down the next level, a nearby shop increases the efficiency, much to my delight. I am already a marskdwarf in the army, and spend my time breaking bolts upon Archery Targets.
I'm not usually a big fan of elves, but in these times, in this place, any friendly face is better than none, no matter how vegan/pacifist/cloth-bearing it is. I buy a little wood off of them, and some of the above-ground fruits. I hope our brewers can distill some finer alcohols from these.
My payment to my clan and kingdom was always the knowledge that what I did, bettered my people. I know that for some however, the allure of precious metals is far more incentive. Although I've yet to use it yet, this vein should speed our economy along.
Dwarves, likely hearing of the gold, begin arriving. Some of them bring the concept of representative leadership, and they get together and elect a Mayor. Although he assuages their doubts about government, I still am ultimately in charge. Times are still too troublesome to relinquish rule directly to the people.
Somehow, two camels get free at the cage stockpile. A war dog is first on the scene, but the freaks annihilate the faithful canine. I appear on the scene second, and quickly get my old skills up to snuff, taking out the both of them. It was not without consequence though, as I took a blow to the midriff, and I fear I will not be swift in recovering. I order the mechanics to set up stonefall traps along that hall, so the same disaster does not befall us again.
Meanwhile, outside, I have our expert wrestlers (now using axes) begin dispatching some of the local undead. The military is remarkably adept, despite its small size. They challenge forces outnumbering them 3 or 4 to one and come out unscathed. This leaves the outside open for work to begin in the outdoors.
One of the ancestor spirits has taken this dwarf, perhaps raising him far up, unto the heights of glory. Despite this grandiose endeavor, he simply takes a turtle shell, and gets to work.
The fruits of his labor- a puzzlebox. While I do not understand why such a frivolous item would be the goal of the spirit, I will not argue. That does not mean that I understand it.
In the summer, humans arrive. I make myself as accommodating as I can, trading them stone crafts for wood, fruits, barrels, and various alcohols.
Summer is approaching its middle stages. I still have plenty of work to do, but so far, the kingdom has been quiet.
-----
Our mayor, perhaps in a bid to assert his power over me, makes a demand that I produce bronze items. Given that I can only make copper, iron, and a few other kinds of items, I decide to politely refuse by doing nothing about it.
In order to broaden our dwarves' diets a bit, and to prepare for the far-off winter months, I have made a small fishing outfit, and designated a few slackers to jump to fishing. They fish from the same area as the well. Turtles seem to be all they catch, but I'm not about to turn down any kind of meat after the amount of plump helmets we've had to shovel down.
Dug out a new storage area for food and drink. With booze production in high-gear and fish added to our menu, the extra room is nice.
Another camel broke out, but this time, the stone traps were there. The stones pelted the beast as it inexorably advanced, but at the last trap, it was finally broken, and the fell spirits animating it fled. As a precaution though, I ordered more mechanisms made and some more stone fall traps added to the gauntlet.
(I'm awful at screenshotting things, so just to quickly explain, the camel is dead under that dwarf. All the stone-fall traps had to deploy to kill the thing)
The women of this fort are tougher than I gave them credit for. Birth is often only a reason for mild alarm, and the mother will often give birth during other labors (pardon the pun). Given how unforgiving this landscape is, it's no surprise that time can't be taken for maternity leave. They get the newborn settled in, and are soon toting around the baby while working.
That's me. I've been out of commission since dealing with those first camels. In fact, I am in that state, ruling from my bed, until winter rolls around.
A child was possessed, and wasting no time...
Took a craftsdwarf's workshop, where...
Where he made that...
Which looks like this.
During the child's moment of genius, autumn rolled around. I noticed that the air was perhaps a little colder. Noticing that we were perhaps lacking a bit on the amount of plants within the fortress (party due to brewing), I decided to reopen the farms for a while during fall, until plant stocks were brought up to a level I deemed appropriate.
With autumn comes the annual caravan from the home kingdom. I traded, once again, for booze, barrels, and wood. I also picked up a few various metal bars, in case any weird demands get made on the fortress by government officials.
I noticed that some dwarves were taking ill coming into the sunlight. While I understand how comfortable subterranean living can be, I order that an aboveground area be designated a meeting spot. Dwarves go up to socialize and slowly get used to the sun again. Some of the results of this aren't pretty, and soon the front gate is littered with vomit. Some of the dwarves are well-adjusted the light though, as they have been working on my personal project.
(Obviouly just deactivate or erase the zone altogether if you don't want the dwarves hanging around outside. I just find sun sickness or whatever to be kind of disgusting. <.<)
Time flies by, and I soon find myself being told that winter has arrived. My back is feeling much better than it used to, and I go out for a stroll. There is a marked chill to the air, but nothing a dwarf can't handle.
(Seriously, I saw the brook freeze over for like maybe a day or something. Not a very cold environment...)
My lack of appropriate items angered the mayor more than I would have given him credit for. Upon realizing that I would not bend to his will, he ordered our Captain of the Guard to mete out punishment. So it was that TowelBoy took the life of a metalsmith. Although this is obviously grave news, I find myself in no position to ease the issue. The only mandate the mayor issued was that harps may not be traded. I certainly intend to let no such string instrument even touch the depot.
A jeweler gets possessed. Pretty standard affair by now, and I'm quite used to it. The throne itself though, made purely out of milk quartz, is a dazzling beauty.
I don't know if he thinks that name length corresponds to quality, but this throne has quite the long one.
After what could quite possibly be the most boring year on record, spring arrives with little fanfare. I had done little more than expand a few things and build a few more buildings. We got some more immigrants and a mayor to test my patience, but the camels that were said to cause so much heartache merely only hurt me personally. Much of the fortress carried on fine. Not a single goblin or kobold, and while dull, it was a nice change of pace for these dwarves of Wheelrags. Plenty of dwarves could finally go outside without fear or hesitation, and enjoy the fresh air. I feel that is the greatest gift I have given this fort.
A bit little, far too late. I decided to try and get a greenhouse going. to grow some other crops. I was too lazy to extend the magma channel though, so only one glass furnace was working on blocks, and only starting sometime during the middle of winter. The furnace is set to churn out plenty of blocks, which can ge used to enclose that farm plot, should whoever inherit the fortress choose to do so. Additionally, there are stairs directly beneath the building, so it's only a matter of digging out the downward stairways to connect the buildings. That way, the greenhouse is not open to the world, only to the fortress.
My "project" is just my house. It has a small pantry, my dining room, my workshops (carpenter's and mechanic's, both assigned to only me) and a watch cougar, chained at the front door. People like to come over and steal my food. I don't really care, since other people keep me well-stocked. The only bridge to my house is connected to the lever on the first floor, which I can pull to seal me off from any threat.
My bedroom. Utterly gorgeous. <.<
The upper floor is open-air, and is surrounded by fortifications. The stockpiles hold iron bolts, so I can hole myself up and fire at anything causing problems.
Although my year is up, I have decided to not abandon this dwarven vessel that I have inhabited. I shall instead live on, just outside the fortress. I have dismissed myself from the military, but have left them the strict order that should the need arise, I'll gladly rejoin the ranks. In the mean time, I'll probably spend my time either in the workshops, or getting to know the people who tended to me in my time of pain.
For whoever plays next, I really didn't accomplish much. Got an office and such for the mayor, more tombs, bedrooms, and such. Dug out some gold, but I kept forgetting about the vein, so there's definitely more there to unearth. Fortress Guard needs six recruits, and our military isn't even at six dwarves total. There's a lot inefficiency in the stockpiles and hauling. Food situation seems to be fine, and I've been trying to keep barrels and booze production up, since dwarves go through the stuff like candy. Traders all had wood and barrels requested, since the amount of wood on the map is rather limited. I'll probably .rar this up and e-mail it tomorrow... err later today, after I get some sleep. Forgive any typos, I'm rather tired.
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