The Let's Play Archive

Dwarf Fortress - Syrupleaf

by Various

Part 43: Phrederick: Update 2

17th Granite: The elves arrive, using the dried-up riverbed as a road for their mules. I send BobTheTurd, but he suddenly gets sleepy right when he makes it to the trade depot, and heads off to catch a few Zs.

After a short nap, a little digging, and some storage (such a micro-managing mayor she is!), he returns to the depot to speak with the filthy elves. All they have is a few donkey-loads of wood, and a single bag of wild strawberries. Couldn't expect much more from a bunch of elves, though.

I've been told that the giant cave swallow that has taken up residence in the nearby chasm, Luzatozkak, has given birth to hatchlings. I must get a trapper out there to snare them, I've long been curious about those marvelous giant birds.

Soon after the elven merchants arrived, Green Intern, one of our metalcrafters, starts acting quite peculiar, skulking around the forges, holding an old turtle shell. When the furnace operators asks him what he's up to, he snaps at them to leave him alone and not bother him. Shortly thereafter, he emerges with a gorgeous iron scepter that he calls Libadidos, or Praisecalled in the vernacular. I resolve to send it with the next dwarven caravan back to the mountainhomes, as an offering for the King.

Construction of the artifact:


Our military continues training under the steady eye of Royal W, and Firos rises to the level of champion, an occasion for great feasting and rejoicing.

I direct Dongattack to set up some traps near the trade depot, in the hopes of catching some spawn of Holistic, were they to return.

Chance II wrote :-

Journal 3 - Granite 8

My journey to SyrupLeaf outpost begins today. All appeals to the migration offices have been rebuffed, I have been ordered to the frontier for the express purposes of capture and study of the creature by the King! While I delight at the prospect of furthering my research, I would have much preferred to do so within my own lab and the comforts of my quarters. Having carefully stowed away the all of my necessary equipment and a small pack of clothes and supplies, I join the caravan setting out from the mountain home. The journey is a long one with multiple stops across the kingdom as traders and migrants split off from the caravan. To pass the time, I have decided to gather more information about sightings of these creatures and the legends concerning them.

Journal 4 - Granite 10

Conversation with the louts in my caravan and the drunkards at the *frequent* booze hall stops has yielded little more than hearsay and old dwarves' tales. I hope that this will change the closer we come to the frontier.

Journal 5 - Granite 13

Drawing ever closer to my destination, I feel the cold seeping deeper into my bones. I was wise to dress warmly for this journey. I grow more unsettled as the scenery becomes harsher and more barren. I often spot figures along the ridgetops. I am, for once, thankful for the presence of the merchant guards traveling with out group.

Journal 6 - Granite 15

Tonight, we drank with the survivors of a group of merchants from the frontier lands. One haunted and haggard dwarf told me of horrifying creatures that attacked his caravan at the very gates of the my new home! I am going to arrive at a charnal house, populated only with the chattering bones of my dwarven brethren? We could get no answer from taleteller for he had fled for his life, only barely escaping with his hide. The normally boisterous and unruly mule drovers and excited migrants merely stared into their cups before draining them. I could not bring myself to enjoy the silence.

Chance II wrote :-

Journal 6 - Granite 17

It has been two days since the last ale stop. Two days of endless stretches of nothingness. Even the strange figures I spotted earlier have deserted me in favor of unmitigated blandness. Along with the disappearance of any remarkable landscape, so too has the sobering effect of the lone merchantdwarf's tale of massacre left the rabble I travel with. The hours are filled with marathon runs of "Is That A Rock Or A Small Tree" or horrible renditions of "She has got whiskers but I love her anyway."

My only enjoyment stems from the company of a new acquaintance of mine. Urist Shieldbiter, a ranger who joined us at the last ale house, keeps me company in between short forays in search of game on the trail. He is a somber fellow and little given to conversation but he seems to enjoy listening to my studies and theories concerning the Spawn of Holistic. Plus he lets me fire off potshots with his crossbow from time to time.

Journal 7 - Granite 18

Tragedy! After long days of boredom and idleness we receive two large shovel-fulls of fun straight into our beards! Sitting in the lead wagon enjoying a nice heady brew, I hear a whistle and thunk as the foam is shaved cleanly from the top of my mug. I turn my head to behold an arrow still shivering in the backboard of the wagon mere inches from my face! Stunned, I sit stupified and take a sip of my now headless beer before Urist pulls me from the cart. Frantically, we duck behind the carts as arrows cloud the horrible skies over our heads. Before we could be overrun, I hear the jingle of chainmail and behold a small squad of dwarven warriors crest the hill on our side of the arrows. The call for us to break for the fortress, Inkrags which had been our next stop and now stood as our only hope for survival. With aid from the dwarven warriors, we were able to reach the fortress walls yet we lost two of our mules and many of our number were injured either by arrow or tumble as we scambled frantically for safety behind good solid stone walls. We are now holed up inside Inkrags as sand raiders (of all things)lay siege.