Note: This is not intended to be a particularly challenging play once past the first year or so, simply a mildly amusing first attempt at a story and practice at making one of these. Location is a Untamed Wilds Tropical Saltwater Swamp bordering a generic Tropical Ocean. If there is any interest in making this a multi-person fort I might do so, but for the moment I’m not planning it. I'm using the PeridexisErrant Dwarf Fortress Starter Pack with all the bits that come with it.
Rules: No starting animals, mostly useless starting stuff. three dwarves with largely useless skills.
The Story of RockDrummed
Comments, questions, and whatever else welcome, this is my introduction to the forum, one half of an ongoing story challenge between me and my friend, who has chosen unfortunately not to post his online. I'll see if I can convince him otherwise.
It is official; the queen has gone stark raving mad. As I began to close up my candle shop four nights ago, a group of royal guards rushed in and hauled me off to stand before the queen, joining a stocky fellow in a blood-soaked apron and terrified baker, clothes covered in flour.
Having recently acquired a book of human stories, the queen was rigorously testing each one for validity. As such, due to our professional skills, we were to be placed into a large wash barrel together and cast into the ocean. “It could be worse” whispered a courier from behind me, “the last one was about a nimble fellow named Jack, but a candle was not dwarfy enough, and no dwarf is particularly nimble...”
OH. And here I thought the bonfire in the corner was just some mad royal desire to cook hotdogs on a stick or something. I guess that smell is not overdone hotdogs....
And with a heave and a ho and a mighty throw, we three found ourselves adrift in a large copper barrel upon the ocean.
I won’t go into detail about the next three days adrift at sea in a tub, in a mad effort to block them from my memory for good. A dwarf needs good solid earth beneath his feet, not some nauseating bobbing casket. Enough to say three dwarfs in a glorified metal bucket is horrific, scarring experience.
Eventually though, we washed up on this Armok-forsaken beach, at the border of a wretched, stinking, fetid swamp. But not all is lost. For what did my wandering eyes see, but distillable plant life. Though we had been cast upon the flatulent anus of an uncaring world, at least the threat of imminent sobriety was to be avoided.
Our supplies, what we held when accosted by the royal guard, are as follows.
From the butcher: One tanned rat leather hide.
From the baker: One bag of wheat seeds, numbering 36.
And I brought…. A bucket. And this journal, “Wilson”
In addition we have a few (3) usable pieces of driftwood, and that godforsaken metal barrel we drifted here in.
And a name, as everyone knows, names are important. By nomination via paper slips, and my yak leather cap we chose
RockdrummedAnd thus began the ignoble founding of Rockdrummed.
