Gildrounded—Masterwork Dwarf Fortress Shipwreck

"UngodlyPetal, my sweet, we have been searching the wildernesss for a long time to find a place we can call home. What do you think of this place?" asked LonelyZeus.

"I like it, WebbedStolen dearest," said Hostergaard, sipping on a small bottle of disease resistant draught that she kept in a flask in case of contact with dwarves. "And we have family! What a delight it was to find Jaxy LyingBolts and Talthra Wraithlikepainted out here."

"Yes, they do seem to be making a name for themselves. I wonder how Talthra's children are doing back home? Little TortureSold and GreaterCursed. Such lovely names."

"We might be able to ask after them; it seems to be the season for traders, and goodness knows everyone must have seen that smoke plume, just as we did. I expect we'll have half the continent here before long."

"Might have some elves turn up. Been a while since we've had a bit of bloodshed."

"Oh, that would be nice. My pop—TormentedDip—why he would have such great stories about hunting elves."

"Oh yes, I remember those! Talking of traders, here are some now. It looks like they're from that same hill orc tribe that died in the fire last month."

"Yes, and Tarrlox and SageEthereal have gone out to the depot to meet them. They're going to make such a sweet couple one day. I wonder if the hill orcs are unhappy about the senseless death of their kinsfolk? You don't think they'd do anything vengeful, would they...? What's that smell?"

Meanwhile, in Urborg, a brave band of kobolds find their tame tusk-ox killed by a giant drowspider, only to have it reanimate, kill the drowspider (because EVERYONE needs an undead, giant drowspider) and then charges into the main burrow.

1st Felsite, 103, late spring.

Twenty-seven new migrants have arrived. This is not a rag-tag band of shipwrecked sailors like last season. This is a serious band who apparently heard from traders that we have the best meals ever. I'll admit, the boozebelly slabcake is pretty good.

However I can no longer believe that we can continue to survive without notice of greater powers. The tower on the eastern wall continues with construction, but the northern approach requires serious work. With so many new hands I plan to engage an engineering force to construct defences.

Armok surely blesses our endeavours; blood sacrifices in the temple have been rewarded with more valuable materials washing up upon our shore, including not only iron and steel, but also two bars of precious orichalcum. Along with them was a smooth earring that shimmers as if made from blood given form.

In order to better ready our defences I have ordered an arena be built near the temple. Woe befall any invaders who stumble into our cages.

I fear our medical supplies are still inadequate, but a chemistry lab has been created, and I hope we may have soap soon. Our supplies of booze are also a concern; I've ordered the above-ground farms to be expanded; while we're all sick of prickle-berry wine, it can be at least grown quickly. Our first plump-helmet spawns from the traders have also been planted, but it will be many years before we reach self-sufficiency with them.

I feel convinced that the scant pieces of metal that washed ashore a year ago were not by chance, and somehow we are blessed by Armok. Rather than try to find a way back to civilisation, I will take Armok's blessings and establish a fortress here. In order to seek guidance, I have withdrawn myself from mundane life to oversee the creation of a temple. Those who died here have been buried underneath, and their grisly shrine from the remains of a horse has been incorporated into the foundation. Thrice the rock altar has been anointed with blood, and I shall continue to provide sacrifices and prayers to Armok's glory. Lishnil has a knack for slaughtering the local wildlife, and we have managed to fashion many of their bones into protective plates of armour.

With our forges running, we're attracting attention. The smoke can be seen for miles, and while it's mostly migrants arriving and hoping for a better life, we've seen a couple of kobolds lurking in the shadows, and one of them gave Old McDwarfy a nasty cut on the hand before running away. Old is now fine, but he was out of work for a while during the healing process. Apparently nothing grows during the winter anyway, and Old's injury served as a reminder that our medical facilities are still sub-standard. Don't even get me started on the matter of soap...

We've taken the first steps towads industry. Both coal and copper are plentiful here, and I've established underground smelters and forges in a layer of graphite; the stuff seems to be everywhere. Scurvy dwarves who have spent a long time away from civilisation aren't the best workers, but I'm hoping everyone will find their place.

A band of merchants arrived, only to be jumped by gnoll raiders. Gnolls suck at raiding, because Lishnil walked out of the fray without a scratch.

While the merchants bring welcome supplies of food and drink, and some much needed plump helmet spawn for the underground farms, their most precious cargo were three enormous dogs, each the size of a full-grown dwarf! Expertly trained for war, two have been fitted with coats of mail. A drake, with scales as tough as bronze, a shaggy badgerdog, and a small frilled lizard were also aboard. We traded all we had for them—well, all the remains of the previous unlucky folk who were here—and the mastiffs immediately proved their worth by making short work of another gnollish raiding party.

I fear that before long we will attract unfriendly attention, so I've established the construction of an eastern wall and a guard tower. The mastiffs guard the bridge north, but they won't be able to defend against archers, and Armok help us should anything crawl out of the sea. Even so, I feel our position is much more secure than it was.

(For context: )

Interviewer: Today, we're meeting with Bardumgenlath, one of the hard working citizens of Gildrounded.

Bardumgenlath: Hi.

I: Bardumgenlath, how long have you been at Gildrounded?

B: Oh, about three months.

I: And what have your impressions been?

B: Well, my initial impressions weren't good. I first I thought I was was anxiety induced hallucinations, but then I found that my cousin died here in a fight with a dragon raptor, so it's only natural that his ghost follows me everywhere. One of the other dwarves even carries the remains of his head around; I've never felt comfortable asking her why.

I: That must have been quite a shock.

B: Well, it was at first, especially having lost the rest of my family to carp, but then I actually arrived at the fortress proper. It's just like this big field of bones and dismembered body parts. That doesn't sound really appealing, but you should see what they've actually done with the place. You can tell the person who made the butchery house has really put some thought into it; it's not just giant knives and dripping entrails, there's art to it.

I: So overall, you've liked the layout?

B: Oh yeah. I mean, from what I hear the whole place has really humble beginnings, and you can see that with things like the dining room have been carved from this disgusting ooze beneath the beach but someone's put a statue in there; it's clear they're trying really hard with what they have. I just wish there were some chairs... and somewhere to sleep that wasn't a room filled with mud.

I: And what do you do here?

B: Well, it's always been my dream to be a shearer. Y'know, work with animals, that sort of thing. But the only shearing animals around here are lightning sheep.

I: Lightning sheep?

B: Yeah. Sheep. With the power of lightning. I don't want to be the one to find out what that means.

I: So what do you do?

B: I'm a miner. Everyone tells me that's important, but I'm not not really sure if the other dwarves aren't making fun of me when I come back covered in coal dust. I mean, that should be a noble profession for a dwarf, but the brewer always has this gleam in his eye when he hands me my beer, and then everyone seems to watch while I drink it. I don't really know what that's about, but people seem to think me drinking the horrid stuff that passes for beer here is incredibly funny.

I: Thank you very much, Bardumgenlath. That's all we have time for tonight.

It would appear this area of coast is well-known for sea monsters, and we're not the only ones trying to eek out an existence here. It would appear that our forge-fires were spotted from further inland, and today a rag-tag band of seven dwarves came from the north, hoping for a better place to live.

In fact, I just discovered our forge was built primarily from charcoal. I'm surprised that the whole thing didn't catch on fire and was seen from a very long distance indeed.

We have a bard, a carpenter, a couple of dwarves who have been surviving through the use of a crossbow, and an animal dissector. No, I don't know what that means either.

Our brewer appears to have invented a hazing ritual for the new migrants.

There's nothing of value here. In fact, if it weren't for the rotting corpses of dwarves and the unmistakeable workdwarfship on a few carved items, I would have sworn the entire place was inhabited by elves, because everything is made of wood.

One of the previous 'inhabitants' of this place seems to be restless, and haunts the land. However unlike the tales of murderous undead of legend, this ghost clearly yearns for its final rest, as it does nothing but sleep in one of the beds. Twenty-four hours a day it's there, snoring its ghostly snores. I don't know which is worse; sleeping in the rain, or sleeping next to the bone-chilling undead spirit of the departed.

We also know why there was a shipwreck here. We say our ship go down the night before. Flames were upon the deck, and the shape of one of those infamous serpents could be seen. As I turned and walked up the shore, I heard the sound of the flames hitting the ship's powder kegs. I didn't look back, as walking away from explosions looks extremely cool.

Just not cool enough to try and dislodge that ghost.

Since it looks like we're not leaving any time soon, I've ordered a strategic barricade erected. All land across the river is off-limits. While we can handle the odd snake, a band of lion-men were spotted yesterday.

I've ordered a cataloguing of what can be found here so it can be loaded on our longboat and we can be away. I was hoping for quite the haul, but the scattered items I've seen thus far seem of questionable value, although a pair of very nice silk socks were found on one of the old remains.

I fear that we may not be able to take many larger items back to the ship, because one of our crew—who goes only by the name Lishnil—decided to bring both a horse and a tuskox to the shore, and I'm sure we'll need to bring them back. Apparently they were under a sailcloth; with Lishnil claiming the extra noise was simply her stomach rumbling.

Upon further questioning Lishnil tells me they're to scare off facehuggers, which she absolutely detests. I don't know what facehuggers are, but since Lishnil is made practically of pure muscle, I'm willing to trust they're things we don't want to encounter.

Arr m'hearties, it be a fine life 'pon the inland sea. There be plentiful merchant ships, and with skill and luck one can steer clear of the giant sea-serpents which inhabit the depths.

We've spied what looks like the remains of a wreck 'pon the shore, and have launched an expedition to plunder what booty may remain. We've landed in our longboat, and we've kept her light, since we only hope to be a few hours before we return to the main vessel.

The wreck was clearly from a previous dwarven vessel. In fact, the skeletons of the original crew can still be found scattered upon the shore. Judging from the fractured bones, and that two skulls lie some distance from their their bodies, I fear their end was not a quiet one. A makeshift crossbow lies shattered and waterlogged on the surf-pounded rocks.

Judging from the poor collection of ramshackle buildings, these poor fools were awaiting rescue... rescue that never came. The grisly remains of a horse have been turned into some kind of totem at the edge of the surf. I don't know if this was intended to be a warning to others, or a grim signal for help, Either way, it didn't do the sailors here any good.