1st Galena, 106: Armok help me.
Moto42 was working on the drawbridge when a skeletal large rat ambushed him and sent him running not back inside, BUT CLEAR OUT INTO THE WILDERNESS. Seeing how he is more likely to attract a crapload of undead running around like a retard I conscript him and have him try his luck against the oversized owl-pellet. Moto42 breaks off one of the beast's left legs at the knee and then punches the thing in its rear right foot, sending it flying. This one's dwarf-fu is strong indeed. Then he grabs and breaks off the rat's left front leg. It's almost like he's looking for a decent drumstick to eat (note: we ran out of dog meat days ago and we forgot to bring some iguanas-on-a-stick to compensate, so I am not ruling out that possibility entirely). In its death throes, the rat lashed out and headbutt Moto42 in his spine. I feared the worst, but luckily it was only bruised and barring further injury Moto42 will remain useful.
5th Galena, 106: Praise to the miners indeed!
Adamantine. Of all the places you could ever expect to find adamantine we find it here in this cursed place. That cements it. We ain't going nowhere. We can't use the stuff yet, but I order Moto42 to wall off the vein between flashbacks. The tunnel we were digging was meant to channel magma to fuel the forges with, and we can't mine out the rest of the stuff if liquid rock is in the way.
(seriously, this was a surprise. I hadn't used reveal on the site and just dug right where I was considering the neighbors were so closeby. We're gonna have fun with this one I think!)
13th Limestone, 106: Well this was unexpected...
Caravan? We're knee deep in the dead and some nutcase decides to send a caravan here? Where is this caravan even coming from? It looks like there were survivors of the great magma flood of 27, though now that they have arrived next to a bunch of nasty undead naked mole dogs, I doubt they will be surviving for much longer.
Come on guys! You can make it! Okay, probably not, but if you would perish somewhere near the entrance to Headshoots so we can at least loot the corpses we'd really appreciate it.
Amazingly the guards they brought with them dispatched of a great many zombies on their way in and the caravan made it to our entrance (and quickly-build depot) for trade. Luckily I had been making rock crafts to pass the time until my office was built so we did have a few baubles to exchange for some drinks and a barrel (which we will need more of if we are to expand our food supply). I tell them of the plight of Palmlanterns and their lack of booze. They probably ran out a couple months ago. Maybe they'll at least get something to drink now that we have made actual contact with the outside world. They also send a trade liason, who I tell to bring wood. Lots of wood.
11th Sandstone, 106: The magma has finally been channeled and our magma forge and smelter is up and running. Verviticus gets the honor of being Headshoots' impromptu metalworker.
10th Timber, 106: Damn Verviticus works quickly...
Now that we are settling into the swing of things I get to maintaining a count of everything we have on hand. Should this fort last through the year, it may become a full-time job.
We've also excavated a few motes of adamantine as we have been hollowing out storage halls and room for more workshops. We're not sure what to make the stuff into right now. Even if we were, none of us really has the skill to make anything really good with it anyway.
Moto42 had another close call with the local wildlife in the form of a giant desert scorpion, and as usual he ran in the opposite direction of the fortress. The scorpion seemed really intent on getting inside though and stopped at our locked doors before wandering off, affording Moto42 the opportunity to sneak back inside.
67th Timber?, 106
I have lost total track of time as I have been buried in records detailing what we have on hand and what we still need. I swear SWATJester is sneaking some booze away for himself now and then because I am showing a 1/8th quart discrepancy on the books. Heads will roll once I find out who is responsible for this. My nose is so buried in another one of my record books that I hardly notice one of the other dwarves walk into my office.
What? What is it? Can't you see that I am trying to calculate the exact amount of granite pebbles we have accumulated? This is important!
But Phrog, we haven't seen you for weeks, and you've been holed up in here writing endless strings of numbers that don't even mean anything. You're acting just like the overseer back at Palmlanterns. By Armok, we know he was crazy to begin with and all this great magma flood crap may have been just ramblings from a deranged mind!
I fail to see your point. By the way, have you seen an errant salmon bone around here anywhere?
Look, we need somebody to give this fortress direction you imbecile! With you in here all the time giving yourself a hunchback and arthritis the rest of us have just been standing around wondering what the hell we are supposed to be doing!
Well it looks like you're in charge now, buddy! I'm too busy to babysit everybody when the whole fortress rests upon my records. Oh, and while you are out there, could you have everybody give their dirty dishes to me? Who knows how many extra biscuits we can squeeze out of plump helmet crumbs and drops left at the bottom of ale mugs! These things must be catalogued, you know.
I don't bother looking up from my ledger during the conversation and the nameless dwarf walks out from my office doing what only Armok knows. I tire of writing in this journal anyway. Think of all the paper and ink I'm wasting!
Vox Nihili is up. Right now we're in the awkward position of having every dwarf already named. I left the outro to my year intentionally vague so Vox can possibly temporarily rename one of the dwarves until some migrants arrive or something (and assuming any migrants make it to the entrance alive). That being said, have fun with this one!