Dorf Fortress – Year 12 – MoGS – The Black Pants Legion

1.1.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“A decade and a year of struggle ‘fore the ONE is called for aid – countless deaths and wars and riots, dragons, beasts, and thieves, and raids. ONE dwarf rises, strong and able, ONE goal for the lives within, ONE path should they hold together, ONE should they all fall to sin.”

-Passage I of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

After traveling for months on a rumor, one that cost half my life savings at that, I have finally managed to set my keen dwarven eyes on the beauty that is the storied metropolis of Threeb- what in the caverns-and-hell is going on here?

The tales I had heard of Threebeard told of grand, giant pyramids and dwarfmade mountains the likes of which the world had never seen before, and would never be able to see again beyond the metropolitan wonder’s borders.

But here I am, pushing through some cursed brush when I finally spot a mere handful of (admittedly dwarf-appropriate but disappointing) squat structures I barely even had to strain my neck to look up to. But the worst part? Atop a proper Dwarven structure stands some human, hips and weak spine swaying in the breeze. As I ready myself to throw stones at this disrespectful pinkskin they spot me, smile, and begin to wave excitedly.

“Oh! It’s the new Overseer!” she calls out loudly as she shakes red dye from her hands. Before I can object to the madness of this Human, a trio of Engravers stop mid-lesson to more or less herd me through the entrance to what I assume is the main structure since, while it isn’t the tallest structure, it’s the only one that had someone dancing on top of it.

I’ve barely had enough time to process the fact that some ancient beast was imprisoned (permanently) within spitting distance of the fort’s primary entrance when a firm hand clasps my shoulder.

“Yeah, so the mayor’s punching a dog and I think a riot’s about to start downstairs. We just found a dead dude by the food, too. Good luck, boss!”

I turn to see who has spoken but they have already fled, the only proof of someone’s presence being the red handprint on my shoulder. Looking around the fortress, I realize the citizens aren’t covered in the dye of a booming textile industry, but the blood of a booming infighting industry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have trusted that merchant I came across while getting some fresh air (to better appreciate the still air we have underground) when I asked him why he was leading wagons full of trash.

“That’s how much of an honor it is to trade with Threebeards,” was his reply.

In my ignorance I paid the man good money for directions to this place I had already been told grand tales of. Now I am here, and I have been put into a position of leadership because, I imagine, I am a new face nobody will feel bad blaming all of their failures on. So be it. I’ve never backed down from a challenge. I will turn Threebeards into a place fitting the growing legends.

The fortress appears to be fairly stable other than the imminent threat of some sort of outbreak of violence (an occurrence which seems all too common based on the various layers of blood caked within engravings), so I immediately set out to ignore the petty individual issues of the fort and instead begin sketching grand plans. I begin demanding the nearest dwarves start the expansion of mining and blockmaking operations immediately. Whatever is here won’t be enough, we will need more.

We will be more. Once all these unemployed poets and bards are handed a pickaxe.

1.2.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

My first month has been surprisingly smooth here. While attempting to fix our “shortage” of (READ: complete lack of) non-economic stone plaguing Threebeard when I arrived I came across a series of insane permanent work orders that were absolutely devouring the fort’s capacity for production. Hundreds of armor stands and weapon racks just stacked up in the workshops to a highly irrational degree!

The artists of the fort have been doing a swell job starting out the work for our quarry, and while some tempers flare on a regular basis, I’ve come to understand that a haymaker to the side of the head is just a cultural thing here. We have a kid murdering some of the farm animals when he gets pissed off, but he’s almost old enough to send out on his own somewhere so that problem will work itself out soon enough.

Overall, after having had two bodies found within just as many days of my arrival, we’ve only had three citizens die in total. As I look around myself right now I have to think that’s not too bad, all things considered. Not too bad at all.

As for the fortress itself, we’ve begun moving some stone outside in preparation for further work.

[The Quarry]

19.2.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

A group of migrants arrived today to more than replace the dwarves we’ve lost in my short tenure here. We used this opportunity to introduce me to the wider community at large. Although many of them have seen me pointing, shouting, and generally being a pain in the ass as a proper administrator should, few of them have had the chance to interact beyond the passing right hook. I took a few days to prepare beforehand and was able to hand out some business slabs with my name, official title, and contact info to a number of people. The slabs even have a nice indent you caress with your thumb! My choice of title was less well received than I’d anticipated. I had figured a bit of levity would do some good in the fort, especially now that all the entertainers were occupied with actual work, but I only lost one tooth during the entire event.

But, better than anything, was my opportunity to reunite with a friend I thought I had lost on my travels:

The only relationship I have outside of the divine.

Overall thirteen new dwarves, two farm animals, and Rakust have joined our numbers.

1.3.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“ONE dwarf will be stuck twixt the stone, THREE trials face his mountainhome: there’s ONE of flesh, and ONE of mind, and ONE that is most hard to find.”

-Passage III of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

I find myself shocked at the violence that has raged the past three days. An altercation between the miners and stoneworkers at the mine entrance erupted into full-blow riots. The fighting has blown up through the main staircase and threatens workflow for our entire fortress. I finish building a ramp and head back inside. The brawl of at least a dozen separates to let me through, and I notice that they are letting dwarves through to work. The only ones that receive more than the standard hello to the chin join the fray willingly. I have no idea what started the fight, but the citizens are strengthening themselves in a way, working out their issues, and I think I see some copulation in there somewhere? Love is a crazy thing.

As I pass through again during my work, I poll the brawlers to get a solid assessment on the status of Threebeard for the logtomes:

After a few more days the fighting has finally ended. I can only hope this won’t impact the workflow of the fortress too drastically as injuries pan out and those who were a bit stubborn finally give in.

10.3.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

A week after the fighting ended, and we have only counted three deaths as a result of the rioting. Two of the fatalities were a bard and a poet, so no real loss there, but the third death was little Minkot, a child who had a tendency to try to fight adults. The child was one of the first dwarves I learned of here, as he had started the fight that led to that death on my second day here. I guess that’s a shame, but maybe now we’d be able to get some work done.

Serves you right.

1.4.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

Life in the fortress has been entirely uneventful since the riots. We have some animal births, but otherwise the work of stabilizing the job economy has been a lot more taxing than I had expected. It turns out that previous overseers had decided not to give any dwarf an exclusive job – specific tasks were assigned to dwarves, but work assignments for everyone included any job that wasn’t tightly restricted (such as mining or woodcutting). Or maybe they hadn’t know, I can’t blame them. The Mountainhomes had recently updated their work assignment methodology to V50.11. I’ll keep a note in the office should I ever decide to retire. Here are the almost monthly details for the fortress going into the month of Hematite:

7.4.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“SEVEN steps once he has risen, THREE kings stand within his vision. ONE more, though unsettling, shall under his umbrella bring.”

Passage VII of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

I am pleased with life in the fortress at the moment. The only sounds of fighting now come from the barracks, as they should. I continue to help the others with menial labor when I am pulled to the side:

While not necessarily an uncommon occurrence, this is technically the first object of legend that comes into being under my supervision, and so it is quite the event!

wow

As I am looking over this very nice blade, a runner comes in from outside to tell me of a human caravan arriving. Excellent! I look forward to offloading what little unnecessary goods we have left in order to finish streamlining the fortress. I wonder if the hum-

Roars echo throughout the fortress, and then loud caws from some cavern folk as they topple the beast. Well then, back to business.

21.4.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

The humans seem fairly upbeat for one of the lesser races. Their guards were impressive too, relative to, again, those lesser races. As the merchant spoke to our broker about the exchange rate of rocks to food (it took this long to haul the trade goods with all the extra fort activity recently), I got to know a little about what the humans think of us. They said they’re impressed, especially with the difference they’ve seen from last year. I told them that things are changing, and they seemed to agree.

One of our miners began shouting today as they left the quarry. They claimed one of the stoneworker workshops, which was highly frustrating, as that has now both cut into our mining quota as well as our block output. Hopefully whatever they make turns out to be worth the delays.

1.5.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

I don’t hold out much hope for our possessed dwarf as the month ticks over. The idiot is screaming about trees and bones when we have plenty of both. I’ve installed a butcher’s shop outside of the Meat Pyramid (a green glass structure housing the fort’s livestock) and continued to expand tree-mining operations, so if that doesn’t work then whatever spirit possessed him is an asshole.

Here’s our monthly update:

Our population saw the slightest reduction when a child got pissy and starved to death outside of the dining area. A shame, but not my fault!

8.5.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“EIGHT dwarves mustered to their feet and FIVE small words is all he needs. ONE solution to ONE problem with ONE dwarf who’s keen to solve ‘em.”

-Passage VIII of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

Things in the fort have been calm for a while now, almost to the point of worry. Even the goblin mayor had been getting into fewer fights! I ponder this when there is a cry from across the river.

I let loose a cry as I take immediate command of The North Vestibules, “OH FUCK! KILL THAT THING!”

A bard is caught offguard as he works on The Project, but Zulgar, a Spearmaster, is quick to jump in and strike the beast.

And Zulgar quickly shows off the benefits of all the “tough love” within Threebeard.

More strikes put the beast in terrible shape before the rest of us even arrive. Even the bard manages to get in on the action, giving the hydra a bite of his own! By the time I arrived on-scene things were looking fairly gory.

I watch Ral pull the hammer from the collapsed remains of one of the hydra’s many pulped heads. It’s funny, I think to myself, how a dwarf can so deftly wield a hammer in combat as well as crafting.

“That was a hell of a bonk,” I say.

“I like bonkin’”, Ral replies. So from now on we’ll be referring to Ral as a “Bonkerlord”.

With the battle over I take count of my squad. We’re one short, so I fill the position and get to training with the fellas.

17.5.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

Today saw the completion of the first true artifact created during my tenure here as Choserseer.

It makes sense, them memorializing the start of life at the fort and what was nearly the end of their own life, all on an object meant to grind and wear. There’s some symbolism here, I think.

1.6.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

The last month was exciting, but we ended up handling ourselves very well. My initial concerns of facing a massive beast were immediately dealt with – much like that hydra. A small group of migrants popped up as the month ended and are still getting used to the layout of the place. Before I log the last month’s data, I should note that the dickhead goblin mayor finally died today. Good riddance. Erith Mansionmosses won the snap election, so we have a dwarf in the position once again.

1.7.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

A completely uneventful month for the first time in my experience, save for the two kobolds that showed up as I went to take my notes. They were spotted quickly thanks to the work on the surface and fled. Progress progresses well. The status of the fortress is as follows:

15.7.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“ONE dwarf toils, FIVE months to go. SEVEN dwarves’ choice makes ONE good show. ONE last chance to set the course, and ONE more month before the worst.”

-Passage XV of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

A birth in the fort! And not just an animal birth, we’ve had plenty of those. A real dwarven birth under my watch! Sure, the kids I’ve seen grow up here have all been prime examples of absolute pieces of shit, but I feel like something is different about this one. As I help clean this child I can’t help but wonder what’s in store for it. At least it’s covered in blood, aught to get used to that.

16.7.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

I could hardly believe it when I saw the dwarven caravan arrive today. They were thoroughly impressed with the state of the fortress, commenting on the almost complete lack of a smell of death! I’d have never considered that a compliment before living in Threebeard. After some discussion I decided to use the artifact millstone as part of the bartering arrangement for clothes and food. The offering of an artifact put the trader in a good enough mood to nearly sell at a net loss!

I requested any metal bars available for the next caravan, as the fortress’ access to quality ores is tight at the moment. Last thing I want is an angry letter about the quality of my copper bars.

1.8.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

Time seems to pass by quickly in the fort. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in my projects that I’ve started to emotionally neglect my pet goose. I’ll make it up to him soon, I promise. I just need to finish this damn project. Here is the status update for the fortress as of Sandstone:

17.8.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“ONE and SEVEN months of leading sees stem of major bleeding. EIGHT more than when ONE stepped forth, now ONE must prove what ONE is worth.”

-Passage XVII of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

I am in the middle of continued work on The Project when I spy some new migrants in the distance! I place my stones and quickly introduce myself. There are five of them, and none very remarkable, but this just tells me the fort continues to prosper under my guidance. Still, I find the reminder of my successes bittersweet. In my attempt to leave my mark on this world will I be leaving it in a better place than it was before? I see my chances of accomplishing my goals by the end of the year diminishing, but I have arranged for secondary plans, just in case. I walk over to these secondary plans and smile. Things are good.

26.8.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

I received a missive from the mountainhomes today:

When I got to the bottom and saw a handful of signatures, one of the names brought me back to the day the traders showed up. The liaison had scrawled his name on the paperwork, and after thinking on it I remember him saying something peculiar I paid little attention to at the time:

I thought he had just meant the progress of our fortress was great, and that we were going to do some bitchin’ trade to elevate the land. I had no idea this is what he meant.

1.9.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

As the last month of autumn rolls around I find myself dwelling on what impact I have had on dwarven society. Things in the fortress have gotten so much nicer in my time here, and life in Threebeard nearly reflects the tales I paid for. My project comes along, and even if something occurs to me before the project is finished, there should hopefully be enough of a foundation for the next overseer to work off of. Anyway, here is the update for the fortress:

7.9.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

A riot broke out in the fortress yesterday near the entrance and quickly spread to the hospital. Unfortunately we have lost three of our number, although at least the child who started the incident and the bard he punched are among the victims.

19.9.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

Another massive riot has me questioning my decisions. The people seemed to be doing fine, but perhaps I had been ignoring the needs of the people for my own desires. At least we have more dwarves to memorialize.

1.10.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“ONE last chance to set things right with TEN less mouths from ONE big fight. ONE more month before he sees his ONE shot pass betwixt his knees.”

-Passage XXV of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

I find myself wandering the bloodied halls of Threebeard regularly now. Life has spiraled downward, or at least I feel like it has. I finish speaking with a few citizens, mind wandering to where I failed these people. It makes me sick to my stomach. I mentally note the status of the fortress for logging later.

3.10.111 (DoGS’ Logs)

Another one. I, too, feel as if I have been possessed by this place. The moment I laid eyes on it, the strange people, the “grand” pyramids, the blood…All of it drew me in and never let me go. It’ll be okay, though. I can free myself from this possession just as I embraced it.

Disappointing.

The bodies keep piling up, one by one by one. The pain of failure is spreading further, and I find myself getting lost in my thoughts more often than not. The more distracted I become, the faster the situation seems to devolve. What if I am the problem?

1.11.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“ONE walk down ONE road remains towards all of what ONE life contains. ONE last look ‘round, ONE final meal, and ONE more act to seal the deal.”

-Passage CI of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown

The fortress will be fine.

I have begun experiencing momentary lapses in memory, and fear my obsession with success and perfection has eaten away at my body and mind. I struggle to get myself out of bed for one more stroll around Threebeard. While I pass the barracks I see Kai and let her know she is to take my place as commander of The North Vestibules. She solemnly nods.

I stare out of the entrance to Threebeard for the last time, watching workers move around like bloodied, drunken, pissed off bees. Wasps, then, I think.

My dream, my goal, my bane, THE BIGGURAT.

A year of work, a year of ambition, and I find myself feeling emptier than ever. Even little jokes like putting a butcher’s workshop outside of the Meat Pyramid that someone clearly meant as more of a shrine to animals than my interpretation don’t get a smile anymore.

I did plan to keep a skylight installed over the coffin at the top of it. In fact, for someone like me…

…I think I did a good job taking other dwarven considerations into account. Even the basis of THE BIGGURAT originates from the first Overseer’s desire to block out the sun, and subsequent leaders’ loves of pyramids. While I may not have been able to complete my project, I have at least left my mark.

I have even left my mark on the world beneath the surface:

My name may not be remembered, but my deeds will be, and that’s-

I collapse not for the first time today, push myself up, and brush off both my knees and the helpful hands of nearby dwarves. No, I think it’s about time.

11.11.111 (DoGS’ Mind)

“In days of old, when knights were bold, and toilets weren’t invented, people left their loads upon the roads and walked away contented.”

-Passage CXI of ‘The First Book of Prophecy’ by Unknown, a collection of scribblings above a bathroom urinal.

With my body, mind, and spirit all breaking, I have finally offered myself up wholly to Threebeard. With no friends or family, I have decided that my resting place shall be a monument to my existence with meaning known only to me, with hopes that my body will be preserved should a future curious dwarf crack open my final home. For others, I hope my living tomb provides some beauty in this world.

I have opted to leave this place as I came in: