FROM SARGE'S JOURNALLOGTHINGYWHATEVER
Allrighty then, this is the journal-log-thingy-whatever of Sarge Boatbores, Militia Captain. I'm a military man... I served my country... I did my time in making the world a better place.
And my country sends me here. Well, if that doesn't beat all that's good and holy in this world, I don't know what does. I mean, look at this place! It's a doggone bonafide mess, for crying out loud! Coffins aboverock, corpses everywhere, and there's a DOG stuck WITH HER PUPPIES on top of the aquifer shaft! It's a miracle she survived the fall! She will be our mascot. Perhaps we can immortalize her in obsidian at some point - a fitting end to a marvelous hero.
by the gods...
Haxxors. There are HAXXORS alive right outside the fortress. ALIVE! OUTSIDE!
I cannot emphasize this enough. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.
Being a military man, I put my thinker to the grindstone and used my combat experience to come up with a brilliant tactical strategy to defeat them with. It wasn't long before I'd gathered my troops together... Ah, I remember the day well... The day I took charge...
The carpenters hastily cobbled together a stage for me to stand on, and I began my speech.
"Gentlemen," I said, my voice ringing clearly through the room, "Today, we are going to defeat the foul-footed creatures that plague us! They will not steal our poor souls today, because fear not! I am here!
"My blessed bretheren of the forums, today, we build... A MIGHTY TOWER!"
There was some murmuring among the ranks, I kid you not.
"OHHHHHH, yes," I assured them with a roar. "We're building a TOWER! A tower that will reach TO THE HEAVENS with its mighty... rock... things... BUT BEWARE! From THIS TOWER we will LAUNCH items onto the poor fool's heads below, and they will be flattened! NONE shall survive the might of Necrothreat!"
"Sarge, I don't think that's the best idea," Mastacheese said. "You see, I -"
"WHAT?!" I interrupted him with a majestic roar. "DO YOU DOUBT ME, MORTAL??"
This brought curious glances from the assembled group, and raised eyebrows. No doubt they saw the validity of my question.
"Mastahcheese, tell me," I said, lowering my voice, "How old am I, today?"
He didn't even have to check his records. "Eighty-seven, sir," he replied promptly.
"That's right," I grinned, thumping him on the back. "And what can live to be eighty-seven, Mastahcheese?"
The global moderator hesitated, clearly stumped by my brilliance. "Um... A tree?"
"No, of course not!" I roared. "A goblin, you fool! And how long do goblins live??"
"Forever - they have no max age."
"THAT'S RIGHT!" I shouted, trying to give him another thump on the back. He sidestepped it - how rude. "Magnificent, my friend! They never die naturally! And what else never dies?!"
He remained silent.
"Anyone?" I asked, peering out over the crowd. "Anyone at all? Surely somebody knows what -"
A little child spoke up from the back of the room. "A god?"
"YES!!!" I roared gleefully. "EXACTLY SO! I am a GOD, my friend Mastahcheese. Thou shalt not doubt me today!"
Mastahcheese frowned. "We don't have enough stone, sir."
I froze, and the smile slowly faded from my face. "Oh... I suppose that does present a problem, yes... Well... I suppose... I decree that we shall simply stay underground and wait til this is all over!"
As I exited the stage, I cried out, "AND GET THOSE COFFINS DEEPER UNDERGROUND! We don't want necrothreaders raising old threads all over the place!"
And thus began my reign.
My reign over a fortress of 36 lacklimb dwarves.
OH, yes. WE'RE screwed. Utterly, hopelessly SCREWED. But if I can help it... we're going to be screwed in STYLE.