The Let's Play Archive

Dwarf Fortress - Syrupleaf

by Various

Part 202: MortuusLupus: Update 3

Mother has, at my suggestion, ordered the gates remain sealed for the time being. She seems to be easily influenced my by thoughts, perhaps a side effect of whatever forced me into this child's body. While I don't have any real motor control as yet, I still can read, and what I see carved into the walls terrifies me. Nearly half the artwork of this fortress commemorates the 11 year rule of "mayor" bobthethurd. The elections are a sham, there is no second choice. I've seen, carved in back alleys where few dare to tread, the writings of dissenters, reminders of what has happened.

There is a spirit or rebellion, but it has been beaten down by the nobles and the aristocrats.

They gorge themselves while the people waste away

The nobles rarely venture far from their rooms, safe beneath the mountain. But the common folk, the people, they are forced to venture out into the sun to collect goods that the nobles take for themselves. The people are the only ones threatened by the dragon.

This cannot be allowed. It is time for the nobility to EARN their keep.


I don't think she will survive, but sacrifices must be made. Her name will be remembered as the first of the nobility of this fortress to lay down her life in service of his people.

In the meantime, though, it is important that the citizens learn to defend themselves. The beasts howl outside our walls at all times, we cannot hope to defeat them with force. We must use our minds. Mother has ordered a handful of peasants to learn engineering and architecture, so that we may use our dwarven intellect to

*the dwarf Rotinaj stumbles in sheepishly* "Umm, yer masterfullessness, we cain't make a cage there. There's a thing in the way an' um I don't know what to do."


"yess'm I'll go do that now" Rotinaj mumbles as he shambles back down the hallway. It seems he was confused by the presense of a large pile of clothes in the middle of the floor. Perhaps...perhaps the mind is not the best weapon for these citizens to use.

As mayor bob walked out onto the bridges to give her life in defense of the common dwarf, she shouts back what are likely to be her final words.


A nobleman through and through.

On a more personal note, I've just begun to gain my sense of smell, and I have to say, the odor about this place is just about the foulest imagineable. Miasma is constantly pouring out of the kitchens and butchery shops as food and animal parts are left to rot. This is totally unacceptable. How are we to become a civilized society if we can't even dispose of our trash. I've asked mother to install an open shaft to the magma forges to act as an incinerator.

The  SPAWNCATCHER , as some of the more imaginative, and intoxicated, new mechanics have named it, is almost done. I am weary about keeping any of those things alive, and especially alive in the fortress, but I cannot deny the scientific value they posses. I should have Mother talk to former animal dissector Chance II about the creatures, and what we might hope to learn.

Not 20 minutes after she left, mayor bob returned, sans armor, saying that the job was finished, or "very nearly so." She claims that the beast took one look at her and fell over, quivering, in awe of such majesty.

I don't know what to say about this. I can't believe that there is anything special about a noble that would give them such power over beasts, but I cannot deny that the creature, upon seeing mayor bob, seems to have given up the will to live. Perhaps seeing the look on my face, mayor bob presented me with one of the golden toys Mother had produced: a finely-crafted toy hammer.

Maybe I've been wrong about the nobles. At least they don't get themselves accidently locked in cages.

He refuses to come out of there, and will not allow himself to be removed. His cage will have to be destroyed, then. I do not know which is worse, the apparant brainlessness of the peasantry of this place, or the incessant demands of the aristocracy.

I shall have to think more about this. In the mean time, a hole has been dug through the hammerer's roof to allow food and drink to be safely dropped to him. I do not trust him to be let out of the room to get it himself, and he will not move away from the door long enough to allow anyone to deliver it and leave. My only other option is to dig him a new doorway and trick him to running to it before locking it, giving a deliveryboy time.

While getting together his meal, I discovered a vast supply of alcohol had been forbidden. Mother was quite displeased and ordered the drink be made available immediately.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps all the children are like me, and the consciousness of the infants whose bodies we occupy have been forced into the bodies of the adults.

Springtime is nearly upon us, perhaps we will be able to test our new device by then. The spawn are still outside, and the dragon is still flopping about on the ground, bedazzled by bobthethurd's radiance.

Such a lovely toy hammer. I wonder what other crafts have been made.