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1 Sandstone, 254Okang & Nunur, my head. Ok, deep breaths. Not the first time you've had a months-long blackout. I can sweet-talk anybody, I think. So long as it's not too much effort, anyways.
Oh hey now. Who's that handsome devil?
Mmm, I sure know how to pick'm. I do so love a man who knows how to apply a bit of tallow to his hair, get that slick grease look. Ok, I'm in charge. Again. That's fine. A farm isn't exactly magma science, this should be sweet & simple. Let's have a look around, shall we? Don't need a hooked nose to find where the animals are kept. Wait, are the goats roaring? .. What?
Some genius has decided to keep our
giant fucking tigers in the same pen as our goats, separated from the mules by a tree, and separated from the cows by a stiff breeze. Whatever, they're not immediately killing each other, so it's fine. Surely this Fortress, as the pinnacle of Dwarven farming prowess, will have well-organized and efficient kitchens & breweries. Ah.. hmm. Many of the surface plots are barren, and at least 1 is growing pineapples without seeds. They just shoved the pointy fruity in upside down and hoped for the best.
If anybody in this Fortress can help me figure things out, it will be the military! Highly trained, professional Dwarves. Now I just need to find them. Here's the main entrance, and...
And there is a floodgate blocking the corner, but they just dug around it. As far as I can tell, our entire production floor is hanging from the side of a wall by a couple of stairs. I found at least some of the military. Rather miserable looking bunch. Really unhappy, in fact.
Oh, of course! Silly me. A previous overseer decided that our most emotionally vulnerable Dwarves should be assigned to the military, wait until the stresses of combat get the better of them, then stick them all in a cramped room with a single cabinet, a fucking teardrop-cut almandine, and open doors. But don't worry folks! We're not in danger at all, because this ticking time bomb has a small pile of rocks to play with.
I swear, times like this make me wonder if my past lives ever had better luck. Yeah, I bet in ages past I could have been
a great architect, or a
master of magma. None of this 'immediately have to fix everything done by everyone over the past decade'. Welp, let it never be said that I'm not determined. Just need to grab a drink and get this place up to standards. Now, I think I passed a bank of kitchens on my way down. Let's just pop in here and.. oh. Oh sweet merifcul Armok
WE ONLY HAVE FIVE AND A HALF THOUSAND URISTS OF BOOZE LEFT!! That's barely enough to last a season. Some of these ingrates are looking at me like I'm crazy, just b/c I was 'chosen' for this expedition due to being the only Dwarf in generations labeled a drunkard and was drinking every drop of that filthy mushroom wine. When all we've had is mushrooms for longer than any Dwarf can remember, you need to make up for in quantity, so that you can properly forget. I'm sure there's a lesson in that about the reason I ended up here in the first place, but no matter.
*rolls up sleeves*. Mark my words Breadbowl III, I'm gonna show you what a true Dwarf can do with an army of farmers.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Whew! Ok then, this place manages to be simultaneously more compact and yet less organized than any Fortress I have played before. For some reason my bracket key has stopped functioning, but I can still press shift-bracket to get the curly ones { }. This means that editing is significantly more annoying than usual, and I need to get a new keyboard this week. So you get a short intro, but I'm fairly certain I finish next weekend. Stay tuned! Oh, and if anybody wants a status update and/or Dwarfing, now would be the best time, before I actually start playing.
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Topic: Cheesesplatter: A Succession Farm (Read 47412 times)