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While digging the catacombs, a miner informed me that he came across a red, superdense material known as cinnabar. My interest was immediately piqued; cinnabar catapult ammo and stonefall traps were immensely powerful. I ordered the construction of a catapult nest directly above the entrance to the fortress, with space for a cinnabar stone pile as ammo.

Whoopee. More migrants. As if I needed a lower FPS larger headache.

Oh, sweet Armok.


There's forty-two of the bastards! That jumps our population from 74 to 116!

I designate a large refuse pile outside the main gate, and build butcher's, tanner's, and craftdwarves' workshops next to it. I then give a repeated " carve bone bolts" order to the craftdwarves' workshop, to supply our hunters with a steady supply.

I order the merciless slaughtering of all (save one) male fowl, as they just take up space. This includes male chicks as well.
On another note, I decide that, in order to deter any potential criminals from realizing that our justice system is almost nonexistent, I order the construction of jail cells and a living quarters for the Libishódian Guard.

An ambush! Curse them! This does not bode well. Four light-armored goblin axemen and a crossbowman against six military hammerdwarves and macedwarves, all of whom were slightly trained, poorly armed, and even less armored, would've meant a massacre! Start to order the citizens to take shelter inside the mountain, after hastily designating a burrow for them to take shelter in. We're lucky they didn't have trolls; they would've broken down our doors and cut us off from our farms. I will have to remedy this by replacing the front doors with a bridge that we can raise. Unfortunately, this means that all our animals are at the mercy of the invaders.

This week has turned into a shitstorm. Almost all the civilians made it inside the fortress to safety, but not after the arrival of six more goblin ambushers and the death of 11 or so of our citizens, three of which were just babies. Our livestock was massacred, our dogs were turned into dogburger, and our cats were, ironically, used as scratching posts for goblin axes.
On top of it all, a human caravan mistook the sounds of death, despair, and sadness for the sound of a safe place, and showed up wanting to trade.

Looks like I'll need the catacombs sooner than later.

I have given a new name to the fields outside our fortress, in hopes that the pain and suffering experienced there will not be forgotten or in vain.

"Datandur, Datandur!" Baloun shouted as he ran down the nicely engraved hallway towards me.
"Yes, my old friend? What news do you have?" I replied, immediately dropping my engraving tools and pick to the ground and dusting myself off. "You seem to have important news!"
"The invaders, they're gone! We didn't even notice until today!" Baloun exclaimed, propping himself on his trusty copper battleaxe and trying to catch his breath.
"This is excellent news! Are the humans still outside?" I asked hopefully.
Baloun nodded. "I'll order the opening of the trade depot gate!" He took off back down the hall.
I spread the word: the outside was safe again. Time to face the carnage.

One of the engravers made this down in the catacombs. I found it amusing. Baloun didn't.

Baloun informs me that our six-dorf military is still woefully underequipped. To remedy this, I order the construction of silver maces and warhammers, due to the fact that they're denser (and therefore more effective) than copper ones. All the axes, however, remain copper. Copper breastplates and mail shirts begin making their way to the soldiers, and orders for greaves, gauntlets, helms and boots are queued. Better than nothing, although the goblin raiders we experienced last month all were equipped with iron weapons that would tear copper armor to ribbons.

One of the animal trainers, Cog Shigóssazir, excitedly dragged me down to the trade depot today, and gestured at an unrecognizable mud-and-elfblood covered lump, cowering in a cage. After seeing my confusion, Cog babbled on about finding it while cleaning up the stuff from the elven caravan that we slaughtered (yes, we're still cleaining that godforsaken mess up, seems that the elves managed to be just as tedious and annoying in death as they were in life). When he saw that I had no idea what it was, he picked up an alder bucket filled with water, and splashed it on the lump. The lump roared and hissed, but as the muck flowed off, I managed to identify it.

A jaguar. An Armokdamned jaguar.

Cog smiled gleefully, and said that back in the mountainhome he had been in charge of training such beasts for the Queen's entertainment (although one eventually bit her at a show, and thus the animal trainer was banished exiled given a free, permanent vacation to Libashód). He claimed he could train the thing, and make it into a war animal. I immediately gave him a promotion to War Trainer, a kennel, and access to the fortress' almost unlimited food resources, and away he went.

More fucking migrants. Just what we needed too; more fodder for the goblins.

Oh well, I can draft some of them into miners and the military.

As my reign of Overseer comes to a close, I consider my own mortality. I thought so much about the death and loss of those who I ruled, that I thought little of my own eventual passing. I decided to construct my tomb in the catacomb level. The area where it will be built will be known as "Founder's Deep," and there will be a tomb area for each of my six companions who joined me on this incredible journey. I will leave it up to them to decide how they wish to decorate it.

So a few days ago, one of our suturers suture-ers doctors entered a ridiculously happy, slightly scary state of mind. In the mountainhome, we called this a fey mood, and it usually meant something good was about to be made. I held my breath, hoping for a legendary axe, or piece of armor, or even another door.

I got mechanisms.


Now, the doctor is a legendary mechanic, and I have some jewel encrusted mechanisms. Whoop-de-doo.

One of this fortress' COUNTLESS hunters sprinted down the halls, screaming for the Overseer.
Well, that would be me.
I held up my hands, stopping him. "Whoa, whoa, slow down! What's wrong?"
"Overseer...I...saw..." He took a deep breath to calm his breathing and tried again. "I was hunting, and I noticed some movement. I snuck closer, and saw goblins! Goblins, Overseer, goblins and their war animals!

Mother of Armok... a seige!
"Did you get their number? How many are we facing?" I asked, reaching for my seldom-needed axe, which was holstered on my back.
"Seventeen!" The huntsman shuddered in terror.
I frowned. "Only seventeen? They must be a probe, sent to find out how strong or weak our defenses are."
I gave the alert to retreat into the fortress. We would have to wait out the invasion.

I gave a miserable little cheesemaker an important promotion; Gatekeeper. He gets his own little quarters, food and drink supply, and even a fungiwood chest; all he has to do is pull the levers when he is told.

Cog came running up to me, tears in his eyes.
"My Katerina, they left her outside!" he cried, burying his face in his hands.
"Who's Katerina?" I asked, awkwardly trying to soothe him.
"MY JAGUAR!" he bawled, tears falling from his face and soaking his beard.

I was furious. Needless to say, a certain individual (who I ordered to bring in the pastured animals) was degraded to plant gathering duty, and Cog was sent back to his Kennel, with the promise of another ferocious animal to train.

Not much to report. The siege continues. The catacombs and Founder's Deep are coming along nicely. More engraving than anything else at this point. Oh, and coffins are being made. Lots of coffins.

Oh lordy.

The Roc Piral Ethba Mogem has come! A bird of prey so large and ferocious it dwarfs many dragons! All beneath its mighty wings should fear the sky!

The goblins are gonna have some !!!FUN!!! with this motherfucker.

When I said "!!!FUN!!!" I didn't mean "shoot down in ten seconds." The goblin crossbowmen turned Mogem into a bird-shaped pincushion. Damn.

That's the fourth masterwork engraving of Baloun done by Onget Ûzkeskal.

I think she liiiikes him! 

Nevermind. I just found out that Onget Ûzkeskal is married. Whoops.

What in Armok's bloody name...

...IS GOING ON HERE?! I know our very PURPOSE as an outpost is to eradicate these assholes, but seriously? The first siege wasn't even gone yet!

Because of the inevitability of them realizing they could merely have a troll beat our doors down, I quickly order a back-route to be dug to the farms, so we are never cut off from them if we need to shut the first drawbridge.

I say "fuck it" and just block off the hallway to the farms. It's too wide open, and a hazard. Building a bridge would just make lockdown more complicated.

Baloun came to me. He said that the workload of training he had with his squad was becoming burdensome; if we were to expand our military, we would need more militia captains. I agreed. I appointed a practically useless Dyer with macedwarf skills as the newest captain. When I asked her what she wanted to name her squad, she suggested the Prideful Volcanoes. Baloun liked her thinking, and not only allowed it, but changed the name of his squad to the Hopeful Volcanoes. I merely shrugged. If our military wanted a theme, then who was I to argue?

Strife came to see me in my "office" today. I was passed out on my adesite table, various production orders and requests sprawled around. He knocked on the table, and I awoke with a start.
"Do you know what today is?" He asked me, grinning.
I groaned. "Aw, Armok. Did I sleep all through the day again?" I began to get up, smoothing my tattered clothing. I should really order the production of more clothing... I thought to myself.
Strife chuckled. "No, Overseer, today is the first of Granite!"
I paused mid-brush. "You're kidding me."
He shook his head, still chuckling. "Nope. You've been Overseer for an entire year! And you know what that means!"

I did know what that meant.
It meant I was done. As overseer. It was now some other poor sap's turn!
And this particular poor sap happened to be standing in front of me!

I know I'll have to pay for that comment once Strife starts writing in this Journal. But I don't care!

I handed Strife the Journal. "Keep it close." I told him, my voice heavy and serious. "It's the only thing that you really have as the Overseer. It's the only thing keeping us sane. It's the only thing that people will be able to read our stories from, long after we're dead and gone, when Libashód is just a dusty hole in the ground." And with that, I left Strife standing there, holding the Journal, and went down to the catacombs. I had engraving to do.

Holy crap. What a year. Since I really have no final words, here are some pics!

First off, the catacombs!


Next, Founder's Deep!


Now, the Jail! (Note: We still need a Captain of the Libashódian Guard)


Finally, the Catapult Nest!

Enter here...


Go up here and here...




And this is where you end up!


Again, thank you all for your patience! This is my first official Succession game, and I hope you enjoyed it!