I am writing these notes down for the benefit of chroniclers because I've read some writings and chronicles of fortresses where I've been before and they were all a bunch of elephant dung. Maybe with these notes you all won't get it all wrong again.
I am Artell Walledsmith, and I thought I had retired to being a herbalist. But a while, as in, ten minutes ago the former leader quit and they needed to know if anyone had any prior experience. I wasn't going to volunteer though I did have some, because most of those fortesses had ended up evacuating or worse and I just wanted to hang around and not actually tell anyone what 'herbalists' did (that is, sit around all day eating those kinds of mushrooms and smoking those kinds of plants), but my mate Sigun felt slighted by something I'd said that morning so she mentioned it out loud and here we are.
I'll get you for that yet, Sigun.
Anyway, I know how this works, so I got down to brass tacks. I did a brief walk through every level and the entrance to surmise how the fortress stands. Considering my "profession" I really hadn't paid any attention to this stuff, as long as the food and alcohol supply was in order.
The entrance was covered by a U-shaped wall. There was the depot, yes. And there were also kobold parts strewn everywhere. That was all I saw before I got a massive headache from the sunshine and headed down the stairs. It didn't look very defendable but I wasn't going to worry about that for now.
The next level was the main floor where most of us worked, lived and ate. I walked around the farm cavern and realized that we had only a few patches of plump helmets planted. The rest reserved for (the text gets messy)ing WILD STRAWBERRIES. That was why the dwarven wine had tasted oddly sweet lately, the idiots were making them out of elven plants! What kind of treachery was this? I looked and looked but we weren't even growing any pig tail! This is a travesty!
I kept walking around. I found a massive weapon stockpile that contained barely any weapons. I ordered everyone to start using it for furniture, since that you usually need that kind of space for. Weapons only take a few bins. We have a legendary bowyer, who had been making BEDS recently. I told them to start working on crossbows so we have something to sell. This fellow was the main source of wealth for the fort pretty much and we kept him making beds?
And by making beds I mean making beds. The fortress is about forty dwarves strong and we must have enough beds all for twice or thrice that number to sleep in. What do we need all these beds for? We can't even offload them to the elves, except by dropping them on them as they enter the trade depot!
The second level looked better. There was a smithy and a smelter, though they were unused. There was a huge gem stockpile though I had yet to hear of a gem being found in the rock. Some spaces had been carved out that looked good for some apartments so I told the miners to start there. The wood warehouse was laden so I told the furnace people to start making charcoal and ordered the gem stockpile to take bars as well. You always need bins and barrels, and making them from metal was the best bet.
The next level was just a bunch of apartments. It was nice and deep, I might move here.
After that it was just exploratory mineshafts and ore. We have copper and hematite ore, so we can make weapons and trap components out of iron and furniture and daily items out of copper. Looking good there; we only miss gems and coal, so I ordered more exploratory shafts deeper into the rock. Burning wood for fuel would sure piss off the elves, but it was not very dwarvenly in other aspects.
Then I took a look at the books. We have a fair amount of everything. At first glance the food situation looked suspect, but apparently all prepared meals go under "Other" food. So we're loaded there. Unfortunately most of the food and drink is made out of turtles and wild strawberries.
I was about to start drawing the plans for an underground farm, a proper farm, when the lookouts reported a snatcher outside the fort. We have a three man militia, the Walled Deities, which I ordered to kill the bastard.
After that was dealt with, we got a bunch of immigrants. And by bunch I mean nineteen, increasing our population by a full 50%. None of their skills were particularly useful, so I assigned them mostly to food-producing duties. One guy, a trapper I think, got made a mason because he had 'Mason' in his name.
Hey, I thought it was funny.
My lovely Sigun decided the increase of population by 50% without any changes in infrastructure was a cause for celebration, not concern:
Sometimes I will just (the text is smudged and unclear). One of the immigrants was a mayor who had said he'd been appointed our new leader. We told him in no uncertain terms we'd appoint our own leaders here, but that we'd have him around just for the sake of good relations with the mountainhome. I also reminded him that I am from the generation that knows what a 'mandate processor' is and that shut him up quickly.
The next problem to crop up was that the dogs and cats of the first immigrants had begun having litters. I'd seen what this had done before. If you didn't intervene you'd have the whole fortress crawling with mewling and barking furballs. So I did what any decent dwarvf would do. And Sigun's party needed a feast.
Then it was time to work with the miners to build the wet farm. It would be a very simple construction, taking water from one of the naturally occurring ponds. No water screws or anything fancy like that. This would be fool proof. A big room with a three door barricade, a floodgate operated from the central staircase room would control the flow of water once the pond filled up over time. Then we'd use the pond to flood up the room when necessary.
It worked as expected, and no casualties. The water gently sloshed out and the miner skipped to have a drink. We'd have to wait some weeks for the water to dry out enough, but then we'd have plump helmets and pig tails growing. They'd be ready to harvest in a year or so from now!
Then I heard one of the farmers was "moody". I wasn't sure what they meant, but they actually meant a possession.
Things were chugging along quietly. The elven caravan dropped by. We drove them away with sticks and stones of course. (Later accounts actually suggest Walledsmith initiated some trade with the elves, selling items made of shells and rock to buy food and strawberry wine to shore up the stocks, but these are likely to be slanderous fabrications.)
The fortress liaison arrived along with the dwarven caravan. We traded some of those legendary made crossbows and got loads of food and alcohol in return. I asked them to bring us leather and miscellanea that tended to be in short supply. I was optimistic about finding gems so refused to buy the few emeralds they had.
We were also attacked by a small goblin patrol. The Walled Deities would have been hard pressed to put them down on their own, food for thought for the next guy, but the caravan guards sprang into action and hacked them to pieces. Excellent timing!
We also had a few cases of thieves, but they were quickly put down.
Our master bowyer also gave birth to a girl! Congratulations. Another mouth to feed that didn't work.
Then the most peculiar thing happened. My Sigun withdrew from society into a carpenter's workshop.
This may have been negligent of me, I admit, but I'm the one paying the price. See, she kept sketching images of cut gems. But the fortress does not have any. I sent someone to catch the caravan and to buy some, any, but they fainted only a few miles out. To be fair it was a great achievement for a cave dweller to make it that far.
I ordered more digs down into the rock, but no gems would be found. I tried to persuade her that the glass we bought from the caravan was gems but she wouldn't touch them. I knew what was going to happen next. I'd seen it so many times before. But with my Sigun? I mean we didn't always get along but...
For the good of the fortress, I had her workshop walled off by the carpenters. She didn't even notice. This is why workshops are usually dug into separate rooms with doors that can be barred. The designer here had been either negligent, ignorant or optimistic.
I was sort of resigned to losing her by now. That's what happens when someone goes berserk... it's like a rock dropped from the ceiling and buried them. They cease to exist.
We kept the door locked save to deliver her beer and food. One day the screaming started and we knew we'd have to stop. The pounding and wailing lasted for a few days and nights. Then it stopped. But I knew how it went.
You don't open the door until the miasma begins seeping through the door. That's when you know a berserk dwarf lying in wait won't jump out and begin slaughtering old friends and... lovers.
Some of the dwarves took it harder than others. Everyone liked her a lot. One of our first dwarves, who was built like a bull from all the mining we had done just... I can't even believe it, but he refused to drink. At all. And he just slowly withered away as Sigun did.
I felt somehow odd, that despite being her lover, I couldn't come to have such a reaction. Maybe that's a form of strength I just happen to have. Anyway, I decided to retire from leading the fort. Everyone wanted to make me the manager since I'd demonstrated such coolness and stoicism in the face of crisis like any good dwarf. I figured I'd accept as long as they let me back to the leaves and mushrooms.
My tenure wasn't a failure even though Sigun died. The value of the fortress increased by half. We don't have as much alcohol, but more is being made by the minute; we will be fine. My successor should be someone who knows the ins and outs of fortress defense - it is not my forte, but we need beefier defenses from raiders, thieves and snatchers.
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