User:RedKing

Decided to use this page to chronicle my latest attempt, from the standpoint of the expedition leader. Pretty interesting backstory to it: I wanted a fort that was actively at war with one of the major civs, just because I typically wind up in Calm biomes with no enemies other than the occasional goblin thief, and there's no sense of urgency to the game. As you'll see, I got way more than I more bargained for. Maps available at DF Map Archive.

The civilization, "The Outrageous Axe" had actually been conquered by elves in 102 and played no more part in history after that till the game's start in 200. Didn't fully realize that until I had started the game, so I had to start figuring out a good storyline for it all. Hope you like it.

"Throwershoots"

History of Arroskeskal, "Throwershoots", founded 200 AC

by Morul Cogstigaz

It has been a long and harrowing journey, but by Lir, we have finally arrived. Our expedition set out months ago from the refugee camp to this place, an isolated peak rising above the Wounded Hills. Smoke pours forth from the peak in erratic gouts, indicating the presence of blessed magma. This peak would have been delved long ago by our forefathers, but it lies deep within Elven territory. For ages, the treelovers have harried our people, driving them further and further into the safety of our mines. When at last the great halls fell and King Vucar was slain in 102, our people scattered to the small places of the earth. We hid in caves and crevices, desperate to keep our people alive. When our philosopher learned of this place a few years ago, the oldest and wisest among us decided that a final reckoning must be had. We would attempt to delve a new Mountainhome, right under the noses of the cursed leafmongers. We would re-establish The Outrageous Axe among the proud peoples of this land, or fall in glorious battle and join our forefathers. Either way, they will be made proud.

Of our initial force, many have fallen to Elven trickery and ambushes. Only seven of us reached the blessed peak alive:

Proud Oddom, the miner
quiet Reg, the carpenter
young Eshtan, our woodsdwarf
troubled Domas, a crafter
calm Lokum, a fisher
happy Rigoth, a worker of flesh and hide
and myself, a humble builder.

Almost all of our meager supplies were lost, save but one wagonload of food and drink, a small bag of seeds, and a trusty anvil. At the last, it was decided that our fighting dwarves would make a feint away from the peak, drawing the eyes of the elves away for a time. It means we will be without guards, but it will hopefully give us enough time to prepare our defenses against Elven raids when they inevitably find us. On our arrival however, I fear that this may have been a mistake. A great gash scars the northeastern slope of the mountain, and from this uncomfortable proximity, we can see swarms of ratmen and troglodytes infesting its walls. An open caldera lies in the western slope, and a few fire imps have been drawn to it. We have found a small grassy glen nestled high in the northern slope. The rock climbs all around us, hiding us from prying eyes. Sheer walls south and west shield us from attack. The chasm covers our northern and eastern flanks. With time, we can turn this natural canyon into a mighty fortress. It begins.

Spring 200 report:

Fortune favors us, as the glen contains a small pond which yields some much-needed turtle. Lokum and Rigoth busy themselves laying in extra provisions. Eshtan immediately sets to work felling every tree in the glen, despite Domas' childish fears that the Elves hear every tree that falls. Lacking gems to work with, I put her mind off the trees by handing her an extra pick and reminding her that every dwarf is a miner at heart. She assists Oddom in widening the narrow crevice at the southern end of the glen. This area looks most defensible. A slight hillock (which we have dubbed "The Island") divides the glen into a north chamber and a south chamber. We will hide ourselves in the heart of the mountain and cut away at the rolling slopes surrounding us, making them too sheer for the elves to slink down. No, if they come at us, it will be from the one route we leave standing, and it will be a most rude welcoming they will receive. In addition to the ratmen and troglodytes, the warming weather seems to have brought a horde of naked mole dogs to the surface as well, and we have seen the markings and webs of a giant cave spider. Perhaps the elves will be the least of our worries.

Summer 200 report:

The summer heat has dried up our pond. Lokum began venturing further and further in search of good fishing grounds, but I forbade him from any further expeditions after he caught sight of a giant spider striking down a small herd of wild horses in the blink of an eye, just a scant few hundred yards away. Needing an alternate food source, I put him to work planting our meager seeds in a small farming chamber in the soft peat of the northern slope. We have delved a relatively comfortable outpost into the safety of the mountain, with a proper entry hall and the eastern wing devoted to agriculture, our most immediate need. When time permits, I intend to expand the southern wing into a Crafting Guild and the western wing into a Smithing Guild. Domas has begun shaping small baubles of turtle shell and rock, in the event that sympathetic humans visit our encampment. Our food supply is dwindling faster than I would like, and I can only pray that some of our escorts survived to tell the others of our location.

Autumn 200 report:

Lir be praised. Just as we had begun to start sizing up the dogs for which had the most meat on them, a follow-on expedition managed to evade the elven patrols and reach our outpost, bringing much-needed meat and a little beer. Most of the meat was the coarser type of fare—horse and dog—but it’ll taste as sweet as dwarven milk after the prospect of nothing but turtle and dog for months. Eshtan claims to know several recipes that’ll mask the dog flavor. Given the quantity of meat and plump helmets we have now, we should be able to make it through the winter and most of spring. We bade our kin a tearful farewell and set back to our tasks with renewed vigor, mindful that the hopes of all our people rest on us. When word reaches our camps that we still live and that our picks have taken root to the mountain, the bravest will make their way to join us, swelling our ranks.

With the immediate needs of food and drink met, we’ve begun expanding the southern wing into a Crafting Guild. When not busy with the day-to-day management of our group, I’ve laid up a healthy store of building stone. When winter comes, I intend to look to our defenses. The elves are likely to send their hunting parties out with the spring thaw, and I do not wish to be caught unprepared.

13th Timber, 200:

A great tragedy has occurred. About a month after our brethren returned home, we spotted eight of our kin trudging wearily up the southern slopes of the mountain. Just as they neared the summit, it attacked. The giant cave spider we had seen lurking in the distance sprang from its hiding place and slaughtered our kin before our horrified eyes, leaping and landing on one dwarf after another, crushing its victims into the ground. For this, we have named the beast Weightfell. Three of our kin managed to flee the carnage and find safety in our halls: Feb, an engraver; Obok, a brave soul but one with little skill except in whittling; and Zulban, a fishery worker. We have mournfully welcomed them into our midst and put them to work doing basic tasks until we can figure out how best to utilize their talents. It is from them that we have gained even more sorrowful news. One of the slain dwarves was a skilled weaponsmith, eager to forge blades to be drenched in elven blood. There are precious few blademakers left among our people, and to lose one in such an untimely fashion is a great tragedy indeed. With such a beast lurking so near our halls, our defenses become our top priority.

We made two attempts to recover what remained of the dead, but each time we heard the skittering of giant legs on stone and ran. I have forbidden any further attempts to recover the remains of *any* who perish on the mountainside. The others are angry with me. It is not our way to leave the dead unburied, to rot in the sun like a common animal. But the fate of our people is more important than traditions. We will build a Hall of Spirits, and there make cairns to honor the fallen, even though they must lie empty for now. Hopefully this will ease the pain of their spirits, and ours.

Winter 200 report:

A relatively uneventful season, for which we are thankful. I have proceeded to construct a guardpost on the “Island” which can be accessed only through a long tunnel connecting it to the main hold. It has been outfitted with a small set of cellars which will contain provisions and additional ammunition. The surface level will be completely inaccessible from the outside and will contain a small dining room and a barracks suitable for a squad of six marksdwarves. The second level will be a fortified firing platform. A single stair will provide access to all levels, and lockable hatches will be fitted to each, allowing for the facility to be completely compartmentalized. If the enemy comes to our gates, we will be able to rain death upon them while maintaining a secure link to our soldiers. The access tunnel will be trapped in the unlikely event that the post is breached. I have begun Zulban on a training regimen. He is a sad sight, clad in nothing more than turtle shells and wielding a wooden crossbow and bolts better fit for a child’s playthings. But at least it’s something.

One mildly amusing occurrence to note: a kobold came slinking about in the dead of winter, looking to steal from the unfortunate corpses of our kin. Apparently the local tribe of troglodytes considers the summit of the mountain a sacred site (perhaps they worship the great spider?) and promptly beat the intruder into a bloody pulp. At least that’s one less annoyance to have to worry about.