Me:drunk. Too drunk? Perhaps.
You don't care so I won't. Blaarhg.
Edit: Or perhaps so. Managed to somehow delete the 400 year world I generated
Well, today I have drunk 2 red ales (Saimaan Juomatehdas Red Ale and Kanavan Panimo Toivo), some rum and cheap lager
Edit: A bit more than just "some" rum.
Drank quire a bit of more rum just before starting.
Even before the start of this turn I think that I might be too drunk for it. Too far in the "too tired to do anything" -phase of intoxication
The new site is in the crossing of 2 terrifying biomes and untamed wilderness so it might be far too deadly us. Sorry. It just seemed nice and there weren't any volcanoes I could find.
7 carpenters. A dozen barrels of booze. Final destination.
Welcome to the asshole of the dorven universe.
Outpost Tombstabbed, occupied by The Fountain of Yawning. Our legacy will be short lifed and drunken.
What's this shit? A custom tileset? This has to be changed. Exit.
Better
There is a lot of wood, water and dirt. Alot of filthy dirt. We are not touching that. Nope. We are going to dig up! No picks involved!
Chop the trees. Chop the damn trees you filthy dorflings. What do the elves love? Trees? What do we have? Trees. What will we present them once they arrive? Lumber. Get to it. We will dig wood. We will dig wood and we will dig it upwards
Welcome to Uristland, kingdom of random
plumphelmets generic surface-grown vegetables
It is now summer
Yes?
We have harpies
Damn winged elves
Progress. Just a bit more and we are ready to ward of the elves.
Urist do shit: interrupted by a buzzard. I'm not dead yet!
Such a lovely red color. Wooden doors painted with dog blood.
Migrants
A cloud of creeping vapor has drifted nearby
Oh shi..
..it did nothing?
Beak dogs? Shoo
Autumn. We have a roof.
What's that? A cat that's full of wounds and some other ..less appealing features. Must be the dust. Mangles false ribs beyond recognition? Ooh boy
..Did our floor always use to be this red?
Named dorfs
The beak dogs assault our pallisides. Shoruke feels vengeful and punches a beak dog.
Caravan. No outpost liason. That doesn't sound good? We are extinct. Well, that's it then? Erm.. oops?
We are doomed. No mountainhome os won't bother not stealing from the caravan
I should drink but I feel like I have already drunk more than I shoudld
Thedorfy1, kamin and naryar are scratching beakdogs to death.
Still nothing to farm
More migrants. The last gaggle of migrants we will ever get
Scruffy is engraving th efloor full of pictures of books and gods of fishing. Also a picture of clouds. Quite fitting considering the evil clouds drifting around. No other worthwhile engravings yet
Naryar cooked masterwork potato biscuits and is covered in his own vomit
Beak dogs keep harrassing the survivors
Someone's bedroom now has engravings of Kamin admiring cheese
We have a deity of mountains. It's a female mountain goat
It also appears that the finest work of literature our extinct civilization knows of is a piece of prose called Discourse On The Gutter and Random Dragon doesn't like purring maggots.
Winter
Masterwork cheese biscuits
Ending turn.
Sorry. Not a very eventful or drunken turn. Been drunk for too long and too tired to drink more
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Topic: !!DRUNK FORTRESS!! [We Hath Become Death, the Destroyers of Worlds] (Read 1160063 times)