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[Shinra]

what, no, shinra

the fortress administrator position doesn't pay, you know that, right

that's what embezzlement is for, chief.

[Doom]

Shinra, we need you to end your turn by the time I can be arsed to start playing with the file myself tomorrow.

[Esperath]

Alright Doom, you're up.

[Shinra]

sorry guys, we ended up dropping everything and going to see my family in michigan. so i'm out. i apologize. :(

[Doom]

I got it working and all but if there's a way to disable the tileset that'd be lovely so I can hunker down and get a year of quality work out without having to double-check every tile in the world. I still got 3-4 days so help me out Dorf Forters.

[Esperath]

Just copy a fresh init.txt over the current one (or edit the existing init.txt to GRAPHICS:NO)

[Doom]

Got it working with the first one(Graphics:NO did not work at all.)

But.. this fortress is intimidating as fuck. Oh well. I shall charge forward as a hot-blooded man.

[Doom]

Esperath and Newbie, if you could circle WHERE your recommendations should be done in the screenshots you mentioned them in, that would be immensely helpful.

Playthrough is pushing ahead... I.. will make this fortress work.

[Doom]

When I first arrived at Lancerblameless, I was told that they had enough dwarves to move rocks and they had enough dwarves to craft rocks. I was told to make myself useful and to learn to be as strong as a rock. I was the first indoctrined recruit of the headless entity I would soon come to call home. I was the first recruit. Myself and two sisters were given a room to trade blows and room in and nothing else, not even orders. I could swear that the hamlet manager, a repugnant Newbie noble if I had ever seen one, was smirking as he issued me his first and last command.

With love of Armok in my heart, I drove my sisters and I to ever increasing frenzy in training. Soon, we were powerful, agile, indestructible. We were as animated stone, charged with Armok's fury itself to defend this little outpost. But still, we were chastised. Still, we were ushered inside and ignored as we cried out to strike down the goblins and traitors who assailed our home.

"Let the tall ones handle it, dear, you'll wear yourself out." Again the disgusting little man make his casual flirtations. Again he doubted my commitment to the blood of Armok, to the children of the mountain.

It is the year 203.. and we are fortunate. The Newbie occupies himself with endless experimentation and insane engineering schemes. With the original Liason Lord drunk on his own importance and literal rum roasts, it falls to me to guide our people.

I can smell blood in the air.



A poor fellow has staked a territorial, feral claim to one of the Clothier's shops. I've ordered the open-air structures be properly barred and we shall see what the mad-man makes of our "failure" to answer his demands for goods we have no access to.



Although technically not my first act, it may as well have been. Today, I have confronted the founder of Lancerblameless, slapped him about a few times, stripped him of his imaginary "title", and assigned him labors. Our food stocks are plentiful but our defenses are non-existent. Perhaps manipulating stone will remind him of his pride. And if nothing else, he is a pair of hands and legs that can carry stone.



There are two smells of blood. Festering and rancid, like meat rotten but alive in a terrible, writhing green shell. Goblin. Fitting for vermin.

But the other... dark, tangy, vicious, corrupt.. an absolute malevolence. The Traitor Dwarves. They claim to lead the greenskins. They often carry the accompaniment of rank and better weapons and armor to back up the claim. Why they have turned their back on Armok is a mystery. Perhaps I can solve it with my fists.

Lancerblameless was founded as a hole in the ground. If mountain is not appropriately available, let ground be broken and strike the Earth. Although a valid move, it was perhaps the last one Esperath made before allowing drink to overtake him to a pathetic, human-like degree, shrugging off his duties such that his lips may never leave the bottle.

We must have walls. And we shall not trust our lives to three sharpened twigs impaling an errant kobold at our very door.



Damnation! Even as I supervise the construction of the fort, the air grows thick with the smell of the rat-blooded!

They are attacking in force! They bring weapons! Banners! The look of greed and conquest in their eyes!

IT IS MORE THAN I CAN STAND

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mz3jYkZMqqA

[jsnlxndrlv]

The four-part instructions listed here should be completed on the ninth layer below ground level, just north and to the west of the lava pipe. I'd designated a tunnel to be dug, but that's never going to happen; just remove that designation and follow the linked instructions instead.

[Doom]

Thanks but there have been developments as to that issue that I will record tomorrow.

[Doom]

Retard McClothGuy has fallen into a depression due to his lack of very specific cloth-type for his legendary stupid trousers. He sits in the stairwell, babbling to himself and occasionally throwing off another article of clothing, muttering something about how he can not stand to wear anything but the perfection in his head.

At least he saved me the trouble of cracking his skull open. Enjoy your starvation, coward.



Defenses are going up at a nice clip. One-line channel, wall, and a big channel out front to build some proper draw-bridges over.



I'm not really sure what the nefarious Newbie nobleman is up to with his mad pump works. Best not to ask for now. They seem to keep him out of our hair as mindless drones told to do nothing but gather planets, cut every tree in sight and only dig are tasked to actually haul goods and craft with stone. Can you believe that magma and carp felled our haulers, so they simply decided to not haul goods? Disgraceful. Our first line of true defense is half done.



And here comes our second. It gives me a warm, syrupy sweet nostalgic feeling, to cast judgement over every soul entering Lancerblameless. A professional thresher? You spend your days trapping lizards with snares and cages? No relevant skills? Peasant has crossed the line. Eight of them, in fact. Our military ranks swell.



And then.. disaster strikes. Armok curse you, Newbie!

[Doom]

Lancerblameless used to be an undefended hole in the ground. Soon, it will be a fist of stone and pride erupting from Armok's blessed Earth.

However...



I had always viewed the disasters engineered by the Newbie noble with disdain. Giant screw-pump reservoirs, an elaborate series of curving tunnels that we only had to 'convince' invaders to travel and we might, one day, science willing, flood them out in... yes, this was all he could tell us of his plans for defense. As I became the impromptu leader of Lancerblameless, it was "almost done", with piles of poorly written notes illustrating madness fit for Retard McClothGuy.

Ultimately it mattered for naught. I had defended the fort from dangers without and now his insane waterwheel was perpetually providing us danger within.

I confronted the fiend within his private office, the cascading rapids banging down the walls near us, the muffled sounds of powerful dwarven snores rising above it all as stubborn fools insisted they be allowed to sleep in their rooms.

"How can we stop this?!"

"Well you see", he crooned, "there's a series of 4 levers that are quite clearly labeled at the end of the hallway..."

Madness. He had erected the only means of controlling the flood next to it's source.



I've demanded that emergency housing be erected and that able bodied dwarves retrieve what furniture they can before the water becomes beard-high.



Although disaster strikes, as you can see, Lancerblameless prospers. Particularly with the Elven tribute from earlier. They may be incompetent fools, but I must confess that I appreciate the arrangement of a giant stack of pyre-wood nearest the path the Elven liason must have taken to reach our secured depot, a look of disgust and casual snobbery clashing for real estate space on his narrow face. He appreciated being allowed to leave with the face intact after we helped ourselves to a great quantity of cloth and foodstuffs.



The others grow discontent and irritable and wet. I order that we shall tame the land above our hole fully. I myself shall room in what shall one day be a magnificent fort. It is little solace after the water wheel disaster so swiftly destroyed my own modest quarters.



Another mad recluse. We shall see what comes of it.



The water wheel disaster, though halted by the presence of barred doors and the development of some flood gates, still threatens to claim the lives of fools who insist upon their beds, as though gifted with the one true bed they must defend for their entire life. Childish rubbish and nonsense, but I cannot allow one of our greatest miners to die, even at his own fool hands. A daring escape route is plotted and Armok thanked that the imbecile at least saw fit to sleep with pick in hand.



Our defenses are almost absolute. When you control the raising of Earth, Armok himself grants you control of all.



Yeah, Thanks. The eager and now legendary carpenter brings this idol to me for consideration. I can only manage to not wince at the use of goblin bone in it's crafting. If only he had created something worth hanging over the bulwarks of our new walls so that the greenskins might know what awaits them at Lancerblameless.



Ahh, excellent. Human tribute. We seize five iron anvils, hundreds of food-stuffs and even a significant number of iron goods not ruined by being sized for lanky, arrogant apes.

[Doom]

Most of the wall is finished, but not the great pits that will serve as testament to Armok's promise of perpetual falling death to our enemies. Greenskins approach, fancying a brawl.



They are serviced admirably. Our growing kennel of war dogs appreciate the treats I bring them from time to time and the opportunity to lick my knuckles. They are a small bit of relief in this mad-man engineered hell-hole.

Little else would provide me joy or stability of mind to deal with the coming events. What I am about to write is of the darkest conspiracy and I pray that one day Armok delivers this journal to our true Mountain King.

It began with..



It was just a normal day. The flood had been halted, all of the roomed had finally dealt with the loss of their own private bed and door and become accustomed to the new housing. We had orders to place flood gates and tightly bolt some few remaining doors, but I was in the process of forbidding direct segments of the flooded chambers when a frenzied call met my ears.

"The Iron Chef! HE'S RUSHING INTO THE WATER!"

It.. had been months since I told the drunken sot to stop acting as a human and carry his rum in one hand, something useful in the other. He hauled, built walls and gradually became himself again. But today.. I saw him through the opposite end of a firmly erected flood-gate, the water rising towards the ceiling as he clumsily tread water, using jugs in either hand as flotation devices.

"I.. hic.. I thought ye needed.. hic.. a flood-gate placed, Cap'n."

He had walled himself into the earlier escape tunnel the miner had dug.

"You damn fool! The Outpost Caravan and Liason arrive in the Fall! Who will provide them rum-roasted rum roast?!"

"Is.. is alright, Cap'n. Hic!" He smiled, as though finally content. "Ah'm cookin' fer Armok now..."

"No!"

I was forced to retreat back up the stairs as another wave of mechanically propelled water crashed in. When it abated and I was able to look down again.. he was gone. As were some donkeys and a cat that he'd managed to wall in as well. The stairwell was protected from all but the most severe flooding, but at what cost?

As the artificial waves began to break and crash again, I heard a sudden gale of wind, as though the waters had lowered enough to permit a sound to skirt across their surface....

It sounded like Allez Cuisine.



Though not evidence of the conspiracy I am soon to discuss, it was a significant and shaking event all the same. The original expedition leader was now dead, bloating and soaking like a fine boiled vegetable. Detailed here, you can see that the results of our training have yielded the true second bastion of defense for Lancerblameless. I must try to arm these boys with useful weapons. Not all of us can be depended upon to strike at greenskins with Armok himself in the blood of the fist.

Will we be prepared for what trials lie ahead?



We.. may not have been. Our legendary carpenter has swam through the ceiling-high chambers of the flooded residential quarters and stolen refuge in a nobleman's quarters! We.. are able to communicate with him by shouting from the adjacent and safely flood-gated quarters. Why is he doing this!?

FEAR! Fear, he says.. of what?

As though beckoned forth by a complete lack of tact demanding he enter, Newbie arrived, mewling something to me about his father's greatest respects for the dear Captain and the loss of Esperath. As if I cared of whatever empty words his fat sire offered from the safety of the Mountainhome. Not all of us can be given nobility for the "talent" of being born.

"Perhaps.. perhaps the dear carpenter is quite mad. Most of the crafters are, you know? A great many things to be fearful of, these maladies of the mind..."

I can only offer him my stern silence. I must attend to work elsewhere. It is only as I return to my quarters to rest, the pleasant sound of stone-hauling and floor paving nearby soothing me a bit.. am I jarred wide awake by realization.




Both citizens of the Sunny Urns.

Could it be that Ast has chosen a dignified death over whatever machinations the Newbie holds over his head?!

[Smiler]

Well, I guess I won't be the one destroying the fort then.

[Doom]

It's highly unlikely the fort will collapse under my reign. The flooding is pretty contained(you could dig an entire new fort in the time it'd take to reach the heart of the fort, if it even can.) I've also provided a pretty reliable and concrete defense against the frequent ambushes. This was important since I had three of them within ten minutes of starting.

[Esperath]

The game needs regular mishaps to keep any semblance of challenge (and it makes for much more interesting reading).  My parallel Lancerblameless is in its eighth year, and the dozens/hundreds of dwarf/goblin raiders just get chewed up by my weapon traps (each with 10 masterful trap components), and when they flee they end up in my kill zone of more weapon traps.

Pretty boring, actually.  My entire fort just spends half the year hauling goods off of the blood-stained spikes at my front entrance.  I don't even need to activate my marksdwarves to staff the soap fortifications, everything just dies too easily.  A single hammerdwarf can probably handle a squad of goblin riders at this point.

[Doom]

True enough. I save-scummed from the .rar because I actually lost half the original year two fort due to forgetting that squads can be set to "stand down." I started journal keeping after that.

But this? The river reaching the water wheel, which itself perpetually feeds water into the residential district? GOOD LORD.

[Esperath]

Yeah, that is the main reason why succession games are interesting.  Anyone can build an invincible fort, but when you suddenly get thrown into *someone else's* invincible fort, hilarity ensues.

[Doom]

I didn't even know what was happening until "what's all that blue shit." And as I noted, any hope I'd have of hitting a lever was swiftly swept under 4/7 water that makes dwarves really retarded. I was lucky to get the vast majority of them to stop trying to use their rooms or even go in the area.

I'll finish playing this weekend and invite Norondor to take his turn. I think I might be able to save the residential area by digging a draining hole next to it. We'll see!