The Journal of Sus, Acting Mayor, TrialFires, 110This is a basalt-bound journal. Al pendwarfship is of the most haphazard quality. The tone is somewhat bitter and it is rambling at places. Beware its deadly sarcasm!Granite 1, 110It's been a couple of years since I first shipped to this here backwater outpost. Although nobody exactly spelled it out, this happened suspiciously soon after that one day I got upset about wearing worn-out socks and
accidentally punched Count Litast on the nose.
(Didn't even tear apart the cartilage, for crying out loud! Some nobles sure are petty...)Anyhows, I'm having supper in the dining hall, minding my own business, when this Apiks character (who's been the boss of the place for the last year, or so I hear) storms in, slams down a whole mess of paperwork on the table (and my *dwarven ale bisquits*
) and hands me this big ol' badge / paperweight I guess?, simply sayin': "Congrats Sus, yer Mayor now!"
Oh, serendipity.
Now I get to run this place? That's exactly what I've never hoped for!
Oh well, I guess I'll have to take a peek at this here map and some of the other more readable papers (preferably without any globs of dwarven ale on them) first...
A few things immediately strike me as odd.
For example, someone has haphazardly slapped a magma forge out on the side of the volcano, protected by a single flimsy dacite door. What gives?
Also, we have three (3) giant farm plots that are set to grow things seemingly at random, changing around every season. This simply will not stand!
There's also this large room full of dogs running around rampantly, for whatever reason:
They really don't like the cramped space and have been fighting each other a lot. Do we have any cages around here? I'll just have to find out I guess.
I set all of the adults to war trainging. Once the time is ripe, our military shall have an
unstoppable legion of killer canines from Hell! MWAHaHAhA... erm, sorry 'bout that.As for our status, material-wise we seem to be sittin' pretty. We have plenty of drink and, uh, "bisquits".
Oh, ICK.
I think I lost my appetite. 
The job designations, however, are a whole 'nother barrel of tuber beer. Looks like everybody is just doing whatever happens to strike their fancy at the moment, which for the most of these louts seems to default to "nothing at all". Obviously, this will have to change.
[OOC]Dorfed myself as Sus, Scrimshawer (formerly Bonecrafter) and made myself Mayor, because I'm sexy like that.
[/OOC]
We also have an impressive contigent of bedrooms, though some of them were not set as such and a pair of them had been inadvertently joined by tunnelning out a wall. That little hiccup has now been fixed.
Uh, this doesn't look good at all... Turns out we don't have a well. I've read Urist McRand's "At The ☼Microcline Well☼" many enough times to know this can be a seriously bad thing.
Also, horror of horrors! Somebody has left a gaping open hole in our stairwell that connects it directly with the caverns. That needs to be plugged, like,
now.I also order a new dig that will hopefully net us a mud-free well. It involves punching through the bed of an underground lake from below, but hey, what could possibly go wrong there?
Slate 2, 110Ah, some migrants have arrived to bring fresh blood to our... wait, what?
An ambush! Curse them!Oh, this is going to suck flesh balls. There's already the previous throng of goblin lashers out there, and our military is pitifully under organized, untrained and equipped with whatever scraps they've managed to slap together from this cave. Not much chance of routing the gobbos with
that.
Point of order, designate some uniforms for the military and set up a proper metal working facility to give them some decent armour and weapons. For the time being, though, it looks like the hopeful immigrants are SOL.
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