1st of Moonstone
The Seven Survivors divide up responsibilities throughout the fort.
Whitecloak, elected mayor, takes over all responsibilities of the home, from cooking to consolation.
CaptainAwesome 2nd takes over the farm, ensuring an endless flow of plump helmets, despite constant farm plot vandalism by tantrum-throwing coworkers.
Manuel Calavera takes over all production, from stone to wood to bone. First wave of immigrants, he swears he'll throttle Whitecloak if he doesn't get an assistant.
Shadow Gamer, not entirely stable, grabs a pick and strikes the earth. He claims he's not mining, that he's just hunting for gems to encrust on everything to brighten the place up. He spends a lot of time alone, beneath the fort. The others are starting to worry a little.
ObMeiste and Ur Getting Fatter take it upon themselves to brighten key junctures of the fort up with the gift of art.
Robot Uprising has all the odd jobs remaining dumped on him, most notably hauling shit around.
Everyone quickly finds their jobs to do.
Tangin, Kobold Theif, sneaks into a closed back door of the fort, takes one look around, and runs for the hills.
6th of Opal, mid-winter, and the unthinkable has happened. Joy walks the halls of Headshoots once again. CaptainAwesome 2nd and Ur Getting Fatter both shrug off the effects of Misery. Could this be the beginning of a new beginning?
The surviving Champions (WanderingKnitter, Nemo2342, HolisticDetective, Tyskill, Serelon, and Mofeta the piddling Champion Wrestler) mostly just sit around in their tiny barracks testing out arm-bars on each other all day. There is no small amount of resentment directed towards them by members of the Seven Survivors.
10th of Opal and Atir erithodkish, infant last survivor of West Headshoots, succumbs to thirst. All that's left it to let the bodies rot themselves away, let the few remaining squares of 1/7 lava dry up, and knock down the wall between West and East Headshoots.
Fortress artists labor to engrave a vital choke point of East Headshoots, but their utter lack of training makes it slow going.
The rest of the winter passes fairly uneventfully. Booze is brewing, picks are digging, farms are farming. Headshoots may be nothing like the proud fortress it once was, but finally there is hope for a better future, once again. Of the Seven Survivors only Whitecloak and the ever-unusual Shadow Gamer cling to misery. The horrors of the past lay mostly forgotten, and the halls of the dead Western Headshoot lay quiet. Only a single square of lava remains of the great disaster that claimed so many before. Perhaps. . .is it time to break down these walls we have erected?
I've been walking these empty halls so long. . .so long. Can't someone put my spirit to rest?
I'm calling it here for my turn. We've had a bunch of half-turns here due to various misfortunes, so I'll just cut myself off at the end of the year and let whoever is next proceed from day 1 of the great year 113.
Pretty much all I did was hold the dwarves hands while people slowly became less and less depressed and injured, but I'm happy with how my turn went. Shit is more or less back under control now, so whoever takes up the next session should be ready to start rebuilding. A complete lack of immigrants meant I didn't get a chance to Dorf anyone, and my own dwarf passed away from starvation early in the winter. Maybe if we can get enough fortress worth added on or something we can actually get some immigrants and get the fortress really back in gear.
Oh, and Veekie, Bobatron, Eiba, and OtspIII passed away from thirst and hunger in West Headshoots over the winter. That's everyone not mentioned above in my post. If you aren't a Seven Survivors member, one of the champions I listed, or one of these melancholy victims it means you died before I got my hands on the fort in manners I do not know. Sorry.