Diary Of Mastercrasher Wiltedsmith; Autumn
Uncle Erib is the hardest working dwarf here. Every time I see him, he is doing the work that keeps us alive. I never know what the rest of them are doing. Corpses still litter the caverns. Progress on our walls is intermittent at best and frequently backwards due to masonic idiocy. Still waiting on the mechanical work for the waterfall too.
MrFurg's wife, Atir Channelowners, is interrupted during a hauling job by a cave dragon. She puts up quite a fight blocking many shots before getting her right foot clawed off. On the ground she blocked five more attacks while screaming her last words, "I never wanted to leave Lashcanyon!" before two skull-shattering blows to the head ended her with a torn brain.
Mr.Furg rushed to her side but was interrupted by the cave dragon as well, he fled back to the fortress leading the monster into a cage trap in the access passage and solving that problem.
With the excitement over some attention was given to Mosus Zasolin's secretive mood. He hasn't left his claimed craftsdwarf's workshop for weeks. Our donkey foal was slaughtered and it's hide set for tanning in an attempt to provide for his needs.
Time was also found to construct the first of the pumping machinery for our future waterfall.
Uncle Erib has been quite a sport about constantly living and laboring like a peasant but lately his vestments have been looking less then gaudy and he is suffering as a result. We have no thread, no pigtail seeds and the dwarf-power collecting webs is plagued by Bugbat interruptions. A pair of new shoes seems out of reach.
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Migrants arrive on the eastern border. The Greater Spawn descend upon them from above. They have no chance despite a nearby bronze pick. Three of them are forcibly infected with spawnitis and transformed into a holistic spawn only to be struck down by the Greater Spawn anyways.
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While the clothing industry fallows another work squad has pierced the magmatube for forge power. Without injury. We are well aware of the potential for danger though.
I have started hunting again, returning this time with a giant olm for the butcher. It was comforting to find our lovely waterfall was completed and will stay running after the manual start.
Poor Mosus never found what he needed and has been stricken by melancholy. I update the coffin production queue and assignments.
Clothing production needs are growing into my greatest concern. Plant collection has yielded nothing useable.
At least the forge room magma supply has been filled without attack from the volcano so it is sealed off successfully.
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Dwarven merchants arrive on the eastern border right into a cloud of seething mist. The Greater Spawn still hovering around the area care not and kill them all the same.
As this is happening a banshee siege arrives on the eastern border just to the south and draws it's own wave of Greater Spawn down from the sky.
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It was inevitable. Mosus died after several melancholic months. His corpse will have to get in line as burials are still way behind schedule. Atir Channelowned for one has tired of waiting in her un-interred corpse and returned to following her husband Mr.Furg for better or worse.
Security has regained it's position over clothing as alpha worry.
Unfortunately it seems we may have run into a little snang.
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Topic: (34.11 Succession) Clobbermountains -- The End(?) (Read 378992 times)