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So, I’ve allowed the population to reach 80 dwarves.

I was actually fairly nervous once I hit the number 80, ordering everyone inside for a siege which I was sure would happen instantly. Well, it didn’t, so I relaxed a bit. The population kept increasing, with a few immigrants and births.

I was at about 86 population, and this happens:

A bronze colossus? I was expecting an easily-dispatched goblin siege. This is something else entirely. I’ve heard stories… terrible stories… will this be the end of Scouredbridged?

Instead of heading towards the fortress, however, the colossus begins destroying some hatch covers which lead to a simple rock quarry. The quarry isn’t connected to the main fort at all.

Then, the colossus starts destroying an experimental pump stack I long since abandoned.  It’s not even TRYING to kill my dwarves.

So, fearing the worst, I send my entire dwarven army to kill it.

Will my army be slaughtered like pigs? Will the fortress drown in its own blood?

Uh, no, actually. The bronze colossus is killed INSTANTLY.

Those two purple items are its head and left hand. And not a single injury to my dwarves.

But… but I wanted a glorious bloody ending to this laggy fortress! I suppose it will have to happen some other way.

…

I’m curious, though, about just how powerful my military is. So, I save and quit the game, and reload from the previous save, when the colossus had just arrived.

This time, I pick two soldiers at random and place them into a single squad, and order them to drop all armor and weapons.

Curiously, since their clothes have become so ragged and worn underneath all that armor, they drop most of their clothes, too. These two dwarves will be going into battle naked. One of them is wearing only a backpack and shoes.

But hey, the colossus is naked too, right? It’s only fair!

I send them out to face what I am sure will be their doom. Without weapons or armor, they’ll be slaughtered, right?

Wrong.

They fight the colossus, unarmed and unafraid. Two stout, incredibly strong figures against a metal behemoth. They wrestle, raining down powerful blows upon each other. When the colossus is injured, it heals immediately. So do my dwarves.  This goes on FOR DAYS. Eventually, one dwarf receives a “mangled” injury, and retreats. The other dwarf, though tired, continues to fight for nearly half a day more until retreating after suffering a broken arm.

So, wow. I guess my military dwarves are really powerful. Each one of them, nearly as powerful as a bronze colossus – without weapons and armor. I’m impressed. It’s going to take  more than even an army of bronze colossi in order to take down this fort.

I quit this game and re-load the save where the colossus had been beheaded, and none of my dwarves injured. It has left behind a masterwork bronze statue.

Someone picks it up, and it receives a place of honor in the statue garden.

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In the year 1052, they arrived at the site of their future mountain fortress, hungry, tired, cold, and with a wagon full of dogs and rum. The rum was quickly drunk, but the dogs stayed with the dwarves as they carved out their home. The dogs… they multiplied. Soon they outnumbered the dwarves many times over. As a visitor in a passing caravan or as a new migrant, you’ll find that their home is the safest in all the lands, being guarded by endless hordes of vicious wardogs.

If you spent any time around them, however, you’d find them a bit peculiar. They wore leather, lots of it. They made fine crafts of stone and bone… lots of bone. And their larders were always well stocked with meat that tastes unlike most meals that you’d find anywhere else. At that point, a thought would strike you and you’d excuse yourself, edging your way out the dining room then running for the exit and your trading wagons, eager to flee, past the kitchen doorway, through which you’d see lots of adorable little puppies milling about a large slab, covered with blood and with a cleaving knife laid across it, a steady stream of bones and hides being borne out towards the workshops.

They really do love their dogs at Inktin.

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Long long ago, back in the early ages of the world, there was a modest fortress known as Mournriddle the Mortified Armored Beetles of Angels. Now, it is simply known as Mournriddle. After it’s founding in 210, it quickly grew in prosperity. One day, a certain Mebzuth Inkpuzzled had a wonderful idea for armor. Alas! The steel and iron brought to the fortress from caravans had ran out just a week ago when the very same dwarf created a wonderful variety of sheilds and chainmail. Mournriddle’s leader was somewhat inexperienced, and a bit of a packrat, so it only occured to him later to melt down iron goods, but by then it was too late.

Inkpuzzled finally snapped, and started babbling everywhere. He eventually jumped into a small lake after nearly fully stripping himself of all clothing. He began to drown, and everyone wrote him off as dead. But then, something amazing happened. He learned to swim! He quickly became tougher and a better swimmer, and even falling asleep in the water could not prevent him from breathing! He died a year and a half later, after reaching grand master rank in swimming.

At least, that’s what the official records say. Adventurers who travelled to Mournriddle years after it’s downfall at the hands of a massive siege said that, even after clearing out all of the goblins who had claimed the fortress as their own, they still heard the faint paddling of a dwarf, swimming for all eternity to seek solace from his own insanity.

Author unknown. Source

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