Part 121: Globofglob: Update 14
I've also given all members of the New Guard titles.
I didn't think "Member of the New Guard" or just "New guard" would sound appropriatly awe-inspiring, so whatever.
I've also given myself a new title, as well.
"The Eternal Overseer, The Indisputable Master of All he Surveys, Champion of the Glacier and Bringer of Light, Master Surgeon and Engineer, He Who Protects Us from the Terror of the Spawn" was a bit too much of a mouthful, so I cut it down a bit.
In other, but far less important news,
It seems we have another new champion in the fortress.
Mayor bobthethurd also wants a battle axe to hang on his wall or whatever. Lazy bastard won't bother going to the stocks himself, and wants it delivered.
I've also decided to make a recent arrival, sebzilla, the new clerk. The_White_Crane did ask for the position, but he's an expert engraver. The guy's rich, and soon on his way to being free of this wretched "economy". I'd rather give this position to someone who would otherwise be doomed to sleep on the floor, to be honest.
Hunter Hifihero has recently suffered an injury while hunting mammoths. Luckily, it's nothing serious. He is rather pissed he let his catch get away, though.
Human traders came. I admit, I was so caught up in fitting out the new rooms that I didn't notice them at first.
I want to get rid of all there trinkets we have. I know these things have went bad in the past, so I send squad "The Blockaded Meteors" to guard the road.
I've also built a small brewery and kitchen near the adamantine fields. It's almost done, I'll I need to do is install the floodgate and hook it up. It should be done soon, and then-
This is going to be fun.
Chance II wrote :-
On that note, I present "Adventures in Babysitting" as requested by Kgummy.
with this I am probably going to end the Chance II dorf journals. I will still post art if something inspirational happens but I'll try to wait untill the end of a game year. A sort of Year in Review. Please feel free to use my dorf in any other stories you want. Just think "Gothic Romance" or Dr. Dwarfenstein and you've got it. I ran out of things to say a while back but so I think its a good time to retire to the lab and keep my head down while the adamantine wars rage.
Bobbin Threadbare wrote :-
I believe it was Jazzimus Prime who spurred me most directly to action. I know not why, but I had throughout the interval kept up an occasional watch over his actions. Perhaps I sought to understand his illness so I could detect if it would spread to others in the fortress, though it is more likely that I was interested in him simply because I knew Parasol was interested in him. It is thus that I noticed his change in habits almost immediately after his induction into the new Fortress Guardians. He began to sleep in more regular intervals, and his obsession with numbers seemed to end with his occupation as clerk. But most distressing was the habit that did not change: though his sleep came more regularly, still in it he would call out the name of Holistic in that strange tongue which dwarves were not meant to speak. In desperate need for an explanation, I decided to approach him directly.
I came to his room at a time when I knew he was both in and awake. Indeed, I could not have guessed incorrectly; far from his earlier days of wandering about and fending off sleep, Mr. Prime was now adhering to a schedule that even the most obsessive of dwarves would find rigid. After obtaining permission from its occupant, I entered Mr. Prime's room, something I had not done yet before. Prime himself greeted me with a warm smile, although his eyes seemed slow to respond to my movements, something which gave his gray eyes an odd, glassy appearance. I inquired as to his heath, and he responded that he had never felt better. "I simply love being alive," he told me. "I love you, too, Bobbin."
Needless to say, I was rather put off by this statement. In spite of my vigils, he and I were hardly more than acquaintances. And, caught off guard as I was, I told him so. This did not seem to bother him, however. "Silento and Globofglob love you, Bobbin. We all do. We all love you, Bobbin, and you love us too, don't you?" I was appalled by this un-dwarvenly display of affection. What had Parasol done to him? I did my best to remind him of propriety, but this did not seem to affect his vapid statements. "It won't be long now," he assured me. "Soon enough, everyone will have an idol, and then everyone will feel the love." Idol? I wondered for an instant what he might have been referring to, when I suddenly noticed the object tucked beneath his bed. It was an adamantine statue, the same sort I saw in the room below, the ones that conveyed the mysterious Presence! I quickly made up a reason to leave and excused myself.
DarkHorse wrote :-
This is an image of a dwarf and granite cabinet. The dwarf is laboring under the cabinet. The dwarf is grumbling.
"... talents gone to waste, no time for work. They'll all pay... need armorscale, chain..."
The dwarf carries his burden to the laboratories of Chance II. As he turns to leave, he notices the room's occupant gesturing to him urgently, and the corpse laid open on the table in front of him.
"Quick, give me a hand here! I have only moments while I perform the laparotomy, and I could use your help with the forceps retracting the peritoneum."
The dwarf grunts a noncommittal noise. The occupant sighs resignedly
"Grab the scissor-y things and pull this flap back."
As the dwarf works feverishly, the newcomer examines his surroundings. He would think it had the look of a charnel house, had he known that word. Bits of flesh and bone littered tables in the room, and large charts and drawings covered open space on the walls. Some of the remains were floating in pickling juices, and not all of them appeared fully dwarven. The creature on the table certainly looked unnatural.
"You have a steady hand for a laborer."
"I'm 'n armorer. Well, I'm s'posed to be, but they kicked me out before I completed the course. I thought I'd have a chancet here, but all they use me for is haulin'."
With a few deft twists the dwarf completes the excision and lays the sample in an examination tray.
"You can let go now. Hmm, it'd be a shame to waste that talent. I'll tell you what, I have some designs I'd like to be fabricated but I can't get through the workshops. If you have any experience with smithing they should be no problem. Take this and bring back what you complete. If I like it, I'll give you more work, and see if I can't divert some of Vox Nihili's workload."
The hauler grunts his thanks as he takes the sheaf of designs.
"Oh, one more thing. I appreciate discretion, so let's keep this between us."
The dwarf coughs a laugh. "Talkative" wasn't a word usually used for him.
Dirt5o8 wrote :-
The dwarf-chain thundered on.
Every dwarf in the halls made way as the curious convoy of robot, dwarfling and mad scientist sped towards the booze dump and the sweet, sweet rum stored within.
Without slowing, Five of Eight dumped ChanceII in the dining room("Much obliged!", he called out as the dwarf-bot disappeared into the distance) and with his rider still firmly attached, leaped into the air and cannon-balled into a keg.
A nearby dwarf cautiously peered down into the container only to see it empty, with a perfect hole in the floor beneath it, and no sign of either Kgummy or the dwarf-bot.
In the dining room, the shaken dwarf who had witnessed the keg-diving stomped up to ChanceII.
Dwarf: How do we kill it Ash, er Chance? There's gotta be a way of killing it, how, *how* do we do it?
ChanceII: You can't.
Dwarf: That's bullshit.
ChanceII: You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its alcoholism.
Dwarf: You admire it.
ChanceII: I admire its purity. A survivor... unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.
Dwarf: Look, I am - I've heard enough of this, and I'm asking you to pull the plug.
AAAAAAAND that will be it from me for now. I figure that I should probably stop now that I fleshed my dwarf out.
Crackmaster wrote :-
Felsite 10th, 146
I instantly regret this decision.
The moment I crested that last hill and saw Syrupleaf (not 'loaf', as it turns out, though this name doesn't make much more sense) in all its "glory" I kicked myself. I turned around and was about to cheese it when I see at least a dozen other dwarves booking for the front door, screaming at the top of their lungs. I couldn't get a damn one of the fucks to stop and explain themselves, so I made what will no doubt prove to be the biggest mistake of my life and followed them.
It was a goddamn mole. Or so I'm told. I never saw it, but they insist it was enough to "turn your beard inside out", however the hell that's supposed to work. Whatever. Frankly I'm suspicious of a fort that attracts such pansies, but I'm here too, so I can't very well judge.
In any event, by the time we reached the entrance it was too late for my escape, as someone I take it is in some kind of charge was immediately on our asses about getting to work. Short handed, he said, needed a bunch of positions filled, and made us sign in. I ended up becoming an Animal Dissector, only because it seemed like the most interesting option available in this frozen shitshelf. On the way inside I found what I was after: the whole floor of the main entrance hall is solid gold. Once I get settled and have some time to myself I plan to see if I can't find their stockpile and start collecting a stash of my own (screw trade agreements, Lanterntool may be a mismanaged fortress but we're not about to do business with a bunch of neurotic, strung out timebombs; more on that some other time).
I was introduced to my supervisor but I'll be damned if I can remember his name. Or her name, for that matter, I can't keep track of who's who around here. Dozens of wackjobs are milling around this fortress, every one of them with a different psychosis. Half of them are mumbling to themselves, and the lot are in a constant state of dread. One of them seems reasonably happy, perhaps a bit too chipper for my taste, but he's the exception. Everybody else is a barely animate sack of dung, as far as I can tell.
Oh, I almost forgot their diaries! Always with the diaries, these freaks, every five minutes they're looking to skip out on work to go dick around recording every last detail of their day. It's fucking creepy, frankly. Yes, I'm starting one too, but I don't do journal entries the way these basket cases do: every conversation in the cafeteria stopped dead in its tracks just after lunch today. Out of nowhere everybody's chiseling. Some have slabs of rock in their laps, some are chipping away at the walls, some on the floors, I saw one of them up on a chair working on the ceiling, for fuck's sake. What they've got to say that's so important it needs to be permanently etched into the inside of this place I have no idea, but I aim to start reading some of them, see if I can't get a read on some of these slobs.
I swear, this place will be the death of me.
That's a purely in character thing, complaining about the journals; I should hope that's obvious, but I want to be absolutely clear that I love every single thing everyone else has produced so far, writing and art alike. Keep cranking 'em out, I'm just screwing around with my persona here.