The psychotic dwarf who could (swim)

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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The Mightiest Warrior of Razorcrowded

Up from the shallow waters some 159 levels below ground level rose TARITHA NUNORECETHUTHA, FORGOTTEN BEAST. Towering over the average dwarf, it was a giant sauropod with a small trunk upon its skinless visage. It belched deadly freezing dust as it turned its gaze toward the nearby exposed staircase, the corner of which allowed access to its creator’s mighty fortress of 90 strong dwarven fighters, lovers, and craftsmen. Children roamed the elegantly engraved and carved halls while several levels of industry churned out goods for the caravans to trade.

Slowly it moved toward the exposed staircase, striding with purpose and a bloodlust unseen for 451 years. As it neared, it heard the sounds of a magma forge in operation, its user engaged in forging an adamantine battle axe, destined to be used to hack at the necks of countless goblin foes. Unfortunately, destiny was not to be fulfilled this day, save by one being.

As the forgotten beast blasted the blacksmith into the pools of magma with its freezing breath, a scrappily clad militia composed of 16 battle hardened dwarves and 20 civilian wrestlers descended upon the beast. Taritha sustained damage to three of her legs, causing her to fall over periodically, but she was still able to wrestle a dozen other dwarves into the nearby underground pool, drowning them. The dwarven numbers had dwindled to 20 as the dwarves above began fighting in throes of melancholy, attacking each other in great depression and rage. Many locked themselves in their rooms and starved to death, weeping.

A stray kitten began to inch its way down the great staircase. It heard the cries of war dogs, dwarves and horses alike. It saw Taritha, collapsed on three of her legs, panting and pale.

She swipes! The forgotten beast jumps away!

The beast is vanquished!

And so, the smallest warrior in the history of dwarvenkind became Razorcrowded’s greatest with just one swipe of her paw.

Submitted to by Jargle

The Quiver of the Gods

Originally posted by Nate on

When one dwarf got a mad look in his eye, grabbed a sheet of eagle leather and some silver, and emerged from his workshop three months later with the most beautiful quiver the world had ever seen, I knew it belonged on the back of Nil, the settlement’s legendary champion – a master of four weapons, and getting pretty good at swimming to boot. After a few months of fiddling with doors, Nil eventually strapped on the artifact quiver.

Life was good for a while. Goblins delivered more iron goods than we could ever use. We’d struck a thick vein of adamantine. The larders were full, the merchants looted, the goods organized behind locked doors to protect and control any moody dwarves.

Then a miner uncovered a strange room, covered with engravings, filled with smoke, and with moans of the damned. And the demons came. Spirits of fire, they filled the tunnels with burning dwarves.

Nil picked up his crossbow and gathered his squad of champions. He was fearless. His crossbow was a machine-gun in his hands. Demons fell. But Nil was injured, and the wound… smoldered. And smoldered. Nil left a trail of smoke behind him. At first it was his arm. Then his chest. His endurance failed, and after several weeks, Nil collapsed, and burned into carbon, along with all he carried.

All he carried, that is, except for the artifact quiver that was strapped to his back. This was a quiver of the gods– more beautiful than any dwarf could imagine, tougher than the rock we stand on, and as deadly as any demon. The quiver, of course, was on fire, but no dwarf that laid eyes on it could trouble him or herself with wondering why it was perched on a pile of cinders. One by one, each dwarf claimed the flaming quiver, and one by one, each dwarf in the settlement burned.

They call me “Mad Hammer”


A river flowing from the east, carrying ice at the end of the long winter. A charming valley with deep soil and peaceful animal life.Two years into my embark, the winter caravan found me in an embarrassing situation. My expedition leader had just been ambushed by a goblin thief, and even though my pair of hammerlords managed to defeat the goblin by bashing all the bones that could be broken in his little body, Kivish had gotten a terrible fracture in his right hand, and somewhat lost the ability to handshake with anyone, even the official outpost emissary.

Worse still, the outpost emissary found the leader outside before he could be diagnosed or sutured, and decided the meeting would be conducted immediately, atop my snowy outside defense wall.So, the outpost emissary made my very necessary expedition leader stand outside in a snowstorm, as he was wounded, tired, thirsty, and passing out frequently from the pain.I tried activating the civilian alert. When you make it an “exercise,” the dwarves follow along and stand in the burrows properly – but when you try it for real, they panic and go anywhere but where you want them to. I should have printed that emergency notice.

The wind got even colder, and in addition to the fractured hand, my expedition leader felt like he terribly needed a drink – I cannot blame him for that. Soon, I’d had enough, and decided to send my two hammerlords to bash in the skull of the outpost emissary.At the time it felt like a good plan.

Reg, the first of my hammergirls (did I mention they were both girls?), comes in and starts bashing him so fast the outpost emissary looks like he’s flying. That’s a legendary fighter for you. The second one, Zas, a squad captain, tagged along to deliver the finishing blow — and suddenly gives me a fun surprise.

In an instant she attacks Reg from behind and smashes her skull. For the love of Armok, Zas! What are you doing?I built many theories around this. First, this could have been seen as a form of justice (a bad deed: a beating) – but justice was not aware of Reg. Zas was not in love with the outpost emissary, nor had she any reason to hate her best friend and coworker Reg.

I think what happened is different, and it looks like a deep moral conflict that solved itself in a wrong way (well, she IS a hammerlord, after all). I am gonna try and reproduce a dialog between morality and duty, in Zas’ inner mind.Duty: “Go and kill that fuckin’ outpost guy.” (pressing voice)

Morality: “But this civilization is peaceful. They are our friends!”
Duty: “This is an order. GO KILL HIM.”
Morality: “So … does this mean I can kill friends?”
Duty: “As long as he dies.”

And so, instead of crying the loss of Reg, Zas just got a happy thought:

“Zas took pleasure in a slaughter recently.”

Disturbing. But maybe it explains what happened next.What’s done is done. I lost a hammerlord, but it was all for the leader’s sake. Now we just have to hope this will not turn into that much of a diplomatic incident. Zas goes to the expedition leader to lend a helping hand and carry him to the hospital, but carelessly cracks his head open by dropping him on a stockpile. Then she goes on and starts playing cricket with my five war dogs guarding the entrance.

My best and only efficient soldier has officially gone on a killing spree. This kind of looks bad, mmh?

zas killing things

Zas, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

What disturbs me the most is that Zas seems perfectly sane – she is in a good mood and says she is going back to the barracks to make individual drills. My ass you are.Civilian alert, and AGAIN, my citizens choose to all go outside — ‘A dwarf on a killing spree? I got to take a closer look!’

What a bunch of retards. I take the heavy decision of sealing off the fortress without waiting for the dwarves outside to come back in. It was designed so that the military buildings could be entirely separated from the civilian fortress. This results in two drawbridges getting lifted with dwarves on them, which launches everything on the bridges upwards – resulting in two brewers and a mason taking off for their final flight.
Melbil, a brewer, taking off with some rat remains.

I carefully observed the phenomenon this time around: they went up ten z-levels or so in an approximately straight line (one tick: one level) before slowing down and falling back on the fortress with appropriate crunching noises.

Thanks to their flashy sacrifice, my civilians remained safe. The ones outside all got butchered by Zas without delay. She goes back and closes in on the military buildings, and then … I remember there are about ten newbie archers in the towers. This is so gonna be a one-sided slaughter. Or is it? I wait and wait in the marksdwarves tower, waiting for the big bad blinking pink nightmare to go up the stairs and start painting the walls red … but nothing happens.Of course not! Zas has found her barracks on the way, and she is making individual drills. For real. Like nothing happened.I save the game and go to sleep.

Written by Kevin T.


Unexpected Altruism

Let me tell you a short tale of a goblin wrestler who went against all expectations and surprised an entire fortress. The fortress of Rockanus had three beginnings. The first beginning was the original expedition, which survived five years until their demise came from within, when two members of the infantile military went berserk for unknown reasons and painted the deeps of the fortress with the blood of their fellow dwarfs before they threw themselves into an abyss the miners had revealed earlier on.

The second beginning was when another expedition reclaimed the lost fortress, taking over operations and getting things running once more. This expedition unfortunately befell a terrible fate like its first, and I was beginning to believe Rockanus was cursed. This expedition had only lasted two years before a large goblin ambush appeared suddenly, right on top of Rockanus’ main entrance. The goblins were merciless – everyone was slaughtered. My dwarfs ran for cover in the deeps of the fortress but they were all hunted down and butchered. Rockanus had fallen once more.

Soon though, as if Rockanus itself craved more victims, a third expedition arrived to reclaim it. The geological location of Rockanus was too pristine and perfect for the Mountainhomes to give up – they were persistent to take it. But an oddity appeared when one of the dwarfs in the third expedition did a survey of the surroundings. Goblins! They had remained since they slaughtered the last inhabitants.

But something was amiss – the goblins weren’t hostile towards the dwarfs. There were three goblins: two pikemen, and a wrestler clad in chain with iron weapons. They roamed the area near the fortress’ main entrance. Distrusting them despite their “Friendly” demeanor, the dwarfs dug an alternative route into Rockanus, completely passing by the goblins. Extra security measures were taken and traps now littered all the entrances – the dwarfs would not trust their goblin neighbors after the previous slaughter.

Third time’s the charm, they say, and for a while it seemed true. Rockanus began to prosper once again and soon had a bustling population of 63 dwarfs all hard at work, expanding Rockanus in all directions at a flourishing rate. The goblins continued to loiter the outside of the old main entrance, now long sealed. The dwarfs even began to forget about the strange three goblins that inhabited their lands. And goblins were the last thing on their minds when the peace of Rockanus was shattered once more, when a miner had uncovered something far worse than goblins.

A miner had broken into an immense cave system, several times the size of Rockanus. It housed unbelievable wealths of ore and gems – the dwarfs couldn’t help themselves as they entered and began to build their forwards mining camp into the seemingly endless cavern. A small band of crossbowdwarfs accompanied the miners as a precaution, and for good reason, as several packs of crundles, foul little impish monsters, harassed the miners only to be dispatched quickly. But this was far from the worst thing wihch made the caverns its home.

The miners were suddenly startled, shocked, and horrified when from the depths came a heart-shattering roar. Legends came to the minds of the dwarfs of an ancient creature that was believed to inhabit the depths of the world, but had since been forgotten: Urke the Hollow of Heart was a terrifying entity, a gigantic four legged, skinless beast without eyes. The miners immediately began to flee as the military that had accompanied them opened fire, only to be quickly overcome and slaughtered by Urke’s terrible speed and strength. The miners fled up towards the main fortress, but Urke followed.

Urke made a thunderous entrance into the fortress depths right behind the miners, and with him he spewed pestilence and death. The nobles immediately ordered all the citizens of Rockanus to flee to the guard towers outside of the fortress. A few brave dwarfs would be set to seal Rockanus up forever, and with it, Urke. In a screaming panic, dwarfs flooded the halls of Rockauns and made for the exits, heading for the burrow atop one of the major guard towers outside. Urke was quick to catch the miners who were still several levels down, and ripped them into countless gibs. Urke had no mercy on Rockanus.

The evacuation was halted momentarily for masons to begin the construction of a steel wall to seal in Urke. The materials were fetched from the guard house’s metalsmith workshop as they began to hastily construct the barricade. Urke had annihilated all life within Rockanus at this point, feasting on the lingering few who had remained busied with their own tasks at the time, unaware of death’s approach. Urke’s tremendous speed carried him up and up the fortress until he was fast approaching the exit of Rockanus. But the wall was hardly done yet – a few more segments remained before the dwarfs would fully complete it. All hope seemed lost – Urke would escape and slaughter the inhabitants at this rate. Even the nobles’ predictions became grim. But suddenly, just as Urke approached the last stretch of hallway before the main entryway, something happened that no one expected.

A short, chainmail clad, green skinned individual ran into Rockanus and past the dwarfs hastily constructing the wall. As the goblin wrestler ran in to face him, Urke halted, as if surprised. The wrestler wasted no time in combating Urke, and the beast showered the goblin with a spew of rot and decay. The goblin pressed onwards despite his sickened injuries – he grappled with Urke, immediately breaking one of the beast’s legs! This tiny humanoid had grappled the tremendous horror that Urke was, and held the beast in place as the two fought to the end. Despite this act of unexpected heroism, the nobles knew that construction of the wall could not be halted. Precious moments had been bought, and soon the last block was in place and Rockanus was sealed forever. Behind that last block was the sight of Urke in combat with the goblin wrestler. Rockanus was sealed, and never dug into again. No one ever knew why the goblin acted so altruistically towards the dwarfs that day. The settlement continued, and the guard tower soon expanded into a completely above-ground fortress.

Years later a stonecrafter called out that he had finished his masterpiece, and everyone came to look. On the wall was engraved the image of a goblin and Urke the Hollow of Heart. Urke was in the fetal position, and the goblin was laughing.

Written by Gobbles

Âsax Masterjails, The Most Awesome Cave Swallowman Ever

About a year or so into my most recent embark, I received a message informing me that Rusmo Ômourog, a forgotten beast, (specifically, a shelled hippopotamus with external ribs and curly emerald hair) had been struck down.  Which was strange, since I was still dallying about on the surface, still paranoid from my last fort being annihilated by a fire-breathing pterodactyl thing.  Not long thereafter, I found out the cause:

“Âsax, Cave Swallow Man Spearman has bestowed the name Mudoung upon a tunnel tube shield!”

“Âsax, Cave Swallow Man Spearman has bestowed the name Zosbagnaxob Spug Akul upon a fungiwood spear!”

Unfortunately, it would appear Âsax either could not make up his mind, or was exceedingly forgetful; the blighter began renaming his weapons thereafter, at an alarmingly high rate, pausing the game and zooming into the unexplored blackness of the earth each time.  So I placed a note at the place I was forever being dragged to, and had my miners dig there. Âsax had to die.

There were two odd things when I found him at his camp.  Unlike his kin, Âsax was “friendly,” not “hostile.”  And he was a bit busy.  Specifically, he was locked in combat with Ejem Itvidsiñur Ipizocul, a massive, poison-spitting blob of ash. He apparently didn’t think killing one forgotten beast with a wooden spear and shield was enough.  And Âsax is winning; Ejem had a tail at one point, but Âsax has lopped it off, and Ejem’s body is red (mangled) at the time of writing.  Âsax, although “tired,” is unhurt.

I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do about Âsax.  I can’t let his obsessive renaming grind my game to a halt, but since he’s not hostile, I can’t attack him.  And the fact that he’s killed one and a half forgotten beasts to my zero makes me think that might not be wise.  Perhaps his obsessive renaming is related to his combat with Ejem; I’ll see if I can help him hasten the beast’s demise.

OK, this is getting ridiculous.  While waiting for some source of leather to make a quiver (for some reason, I’ve not seen a single caravan), Ana showed up.  Ana is “a great quadruped composed of coral” with three tails, a “gaunt appearance,” and deadly spittle.  Since it couldn’t reach me, it went straight for Âsax, whose third toe on his right foot is now broken and smashed open.  This is the only damage Ana and Ejem (who just won’t die despite being in the red) have done.
Let me re-iterate: he is trapped between two poison spitting Forgotten Beasts, and that’s all they’ve managed to do to him.  Maybe it’s a bug…


This is insane.  Lacking any major source of magma or water, I figured I’d just have my miners cut open an alternate route, and then hack Ana and Ejem, into pieces.  I mean, tearing a creature limb from limb will kill it eventually, right?

I soon found out this answer was “wrong.” As soon as I pierced through on ground level, Âsax decided he wanted to see the sky and flew like a maniac out of the cavern, with Ana and Ejem close behind.  I eventually managed to lure them into a side tunnel and seal the two forgotten beasts in (along with a fish dissector dwarf I’d used to distract them); my very own Hidden Fun Stuff.

Though no longer fighting the beasts, Âsax is still doing the obnoxious renaming every few minutes that started this whole mess.  My dwarves are ignoring the kill order; they have it on their job list, but are hanging out in the barracks instead.  They’ll obey other kill orders, though.  Since I don’t have any magma, and very little water, I can’t think of how to eliminate Âsax… or at least get him to shut up.  He’s presently chilling in my main hallway, showing benign interest in my dwarves’ activities.

I found out how to make the game not react to Âsax’s obsessive renaming; it had risen to twice a minute.  Now that that problem is solved, I’ll let him roam freely throughout my fort.
This was by far the weirdest series of events I’ve ever had happen to me personally in Dwarf Fortress.

Also, when sealing in Ejem and Ana, I forgot to seal their escape route back into the depths.  They’re back down there, beating up reptile men.  Whoops.  Well, as long as I dig carefully, not my problem…

…I can’t believe it.
There was a goblin ambush.  Master lasher Atu Wraithwhipped managed to do what three of the most appalling abominations in all of creation, two of them immortals, failed to do; kill Âsax.  Âsax defended the fortress as nobly as any of my actual soldiers, but evidently, his specialty was in dealing with freakish behemoths, not armed, armored goblins.
Those gobbo bastards managed to kill two of my most popular and useful dwarves as well; I may be looking at a fatal tantrum spiral thanks to them.
What a strange little tale.  Atu Wraithwhipped… I’ll remember that name, and if the fortress falls, I’ve got a goblin to hunt down in Adventurer mode.

Well, I made a copy to look at the legends mode:

571 artifacts are listed, all of them just different names Âsax gave to his fungiwood spear and tunnel tube shield.

Not much on the painfully unremarkable Atu Wraithwhipped.  He was born to unknown parents in 803 (present date is early 1055), and he’s a member of the Blotted Incest.  He has no home listed, and his only kills are Âsax and a stray cat, also in my fort.

Âsax was born in 1042, and his life was completely unremarkable until he slew Rusmo Mournfulcackled.  (Rusmo failed to kill a single creature before Âsax slew him in early 1053.)  Âsax, for his part, never stopped considering himself a member of his nameless tribe of cave swallowmen.  Due to Âsax’s efforts, said tribe is now listed on the legends screen, though it has no symbol or name.  Its history only records Ejem, Ana, and Atu Wraithwhipped becoming its enemies.

Oh, and I found out why no caravans, and only a smattering of migrants, have come.
My settlement, Reignstake, has truly been well named. The entire reign of dwarvern civilization is indeed at stake.

It is the last dwarvern settlement on the entire planet.

Just when I thought this game could get no stranger…

As soon as is possible, Âsax will be getting a shrine; I intend ensure that his remains and weapons are given a place of honor.

This will have to wait until the dwarves’ current tantrum spiral wears off. Until then, I plan to set up a far more brutal series of traps and surprises to deal with the Blotted Incest, involving cage traps and guard dogs.  I can’t exactly expand my military, though.  It consists of two dwarves, one of whom has been struck by melancholy.  The rest of my dwarves are needed for their non-military skills.  (Oddly, the melancholy dwarf has not committed, or sought to commit, suicide; he has been obsessively practicing in the barracks, but has refused both food and drink.  He’ll no doubt be dead soon, at any rate…)

Then again, I’ve got a nice little subterranean ecosystem going, independent of the bloodthirsty fiends of the underworld.  Now that I know why the Mountainhomes haven’t been sending caravans (because they’re dead to the last dwarf), and why the humans and elves have been ignoring me (because according to their records, I don’t exist), maybe I should just close up that bridge and be done with it.  Then I have only to deal with the abominations of the underworld, should I inadvertently break back into the subterranean ecosystems.

I’m down to fourteen dwarves now, including the aforementioned melancholy dwarf, and the ones not actively suicidal are mostly pretty close.

In short: I cannot dare dig too deep, lest the undying horrors below tear my people asunder.  I cannot sacrifice even the least of my people, for even they are needed to repopulate my nigh-annihilated people.  The rest of this world either cares nothing for my fate, or seeks to hasten the extinction of all dwarfkind.  The only glimmer of hope my people have ever borne witness to, an eccentric cave swallowman, lies dead by a goblin’s lucky strike.

This is the most Fun I’ve had in a long time.

Here is everything worthy of note from his legends description:  (Âsax is goblin-tounge for Masterjails, by the way, since the underground peoples use goblin as their communication language.)

Masterjails was a cave swallow man born in 1042.  He was of unknown parentage.

In the early autumn of 1053, Masterjails mortally wounded the forgotten beast Rusmo Mournfulcackled, who suffocated, with Squareluck the Tones of Safety in Reignstake.

[Yes, Âsax was 11 years old when he killed Rusmo.]

In the early summer of 1054, Moroserivers the Decent Salve received its name in Reignstake from Masterjails.

In the early summer of 1054, The Cyclopean Tar received its name in Reignstake from Masterjails.

[So on and so forth for many pages…]

In the early spring of 1055, Masterjails bled to death, slain by the goblin Atu Wraithwhipped with a silver whip in Reignstake.

Yeah, that’s pretty much his entire life according to legends mode.  It misses the months spent fighting undying abominations of ash and coral, though, dodging attack after attack, without suffering anything worse than a broken toe, but there isn’t much to say about him.  He only had thirteen years of life, though with them, he achieved more than the average elf does in a thousand.

I think the sheer ordinariness of him makes him all the more awesome.  He wasn’t chosen by some mighty god, or born to some ancient lineage.  He did not wield mighty artifacts or arcane magics.  He was a cave swallowman with a fungiwood spear and a tunnel tube shield, who dared to challenge the unspeakable… and won.

Written by KillerClowns


The Strange Case of Oddom Ulingmosus

A dwarven caravan came to Vabokilral, “Orbtreaty”, around the middle of the warm autumn that preceded the mild winter of our second year in the fortress. As such caravans are wont to, they brought with them bodyguards, three axedwarves. As one of these axedwarves, a certain Oddom Ulingmosus, came into view, so too did one of the many gorillas that roam our countryside.

To shoo it from the caravan, Oddom made haste to attack it with his axe. He chased it a short distance before laying the finishing blow, at which time another gorilla came into view. Oddom hefted his axe and made chase again. Eventually the caravan crossed the river bridge and came to our trading depot, where they sold us several types of food (they drove too hard a bargain for us to relieve them of their dwarven cheeses). They left before winter came, and we went back to work.

It was the next spring when one of our hunters, seeking gorilla meat for our legendary dining room, noticed that the ground on the opposite side of the river was dotted with dead gorillas in various states of decomposition, and all bearing axe-marks. The cause was eventually discovered: Oddom Ulingmosus the caravan guard had been roaming the countryside all winter (thank the dwarven gods that we built in such a warm locale!) in a state of absolute madness, hacking into pieces any gorillas he saw, and it seems any leopards or jaguars when he had the time. He still roams the plains, axe in hand and insensate with strange rage. I fear he will not rest until he is dead or every gorilla on the plains has breathed its last.

(Side note: This dwarf is now Unbelievably Tough from this, and I hope he automatically takes it upon himself to be my first line of defense if I’m ever attacked from the west, because I’m pretty sure he could singlehandedly defeat my entire military in battle.)

Poor Trade Relations

Let me tell you about a moment I’m not particularly proud of.

I had a particular set-up for my trade depot in my fort. If I didn’t just want to seize all of a caravans goods but also capture the merchants for some reason, I could pull a lever to drop the entire depot and its contents into a room lined with cage traps. The fall would stun the merchants, and they’d get trapped.

The elves came around, and they had so. Much. Fucking. Cloth. They also had a few tamed vermin and a few useless wooden trinkets. No booze at all, which I desperately needed at the time.

I pulled the lever. Forced them to watch as I had ALL of their belongings, and their animals, dumped into the volcano. Then I had them thrown in after it.

Overreacted? Sure. But then again…they’re only elves.

Author Unknown.  Source

Dwarfs of Note

I’ve started playing again. Dwarfs of note:

“Hero,” who got his title in the last goblin invasion – only a small one, thank God. All my dwarfs were outside collecting wood, and they only just ran inside in time. Hero was trapped outside by a cruel twist of fate – he ran outside just as the drawbridge was swinging up, knocking him unconscious. He lay in the entrance halls while the multi-layered traps and wardogs took care of the advance party of trolls, and then he woke up just as the main host of enemies arrived at the gate. Grabbing up his crossbow he fired wildly into the scrum – with his first shot piercing the heart of the goblin leader. As the rest of the ungodly fiends ran for their lives, he chased after firing with every step, slaying a dozen goblins before the river. He returned home to a heroes welcome, and a title to match.

“The Butcher,” which is a lesson in what results if you let an initial population of 4 randy horses breed unchecked for a few years. The resulting 100-odd horses were starting to block up the corridors- at least 30 had adopted a lowly peasant and followed him everywhere. His description, however, said he didn’t like horses. So I made him into a butcher. Two seasons later and pretty much my entire fortress is flooded with blood, and I have three tanners working overtime to keep up with this one pissed off, horse hating slaughter machine. I have a couple of years worth of meat and leather armour for all my marksdwarfs though, so it’s well worth it. I also have about 40 cats… yummy.

“The Recruit,” who was a lone fisherman wandering the banks of the underground river fishing for cave lobster. His journeys had taken him further afield than usual, down an old abandoned (though stupidly unlocked) exploratory passage which led to a small far away beach, where he was ambushed by lizardmen. I switched to the military screen and recruited him- as he was in my initial batch of dwarfs, I’d made sure he’d got some small amount of military training, and an axe to carry. He smote the first lizardman with such a hefty blow that the corpse splattered blood over the wall on the far side of the river. He took down another, and another. The ground was littered with limbs and chucks, both from the invaders and the one lone soldier. Finally he fled in terror- down the long passage towards the squads of marksdwarfs I’d sent running as soon as the alarm was sounded. He made noble progress, but with only one leg left working, it was futile. The last invading lizardman caught up and tore his throat out, a heartbeat before being slaughtered by the squads. The Recruit lay there for a while, no doubt in terrible agony, with every part of his body damaged, before bleeding to death, just as the soldiers reached him.

Written by Poobar.  Source

The Sock Mayor

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