Dwarf Fortress has sometimes been described as the world's hardest game. Which is clearly why I help write mods for it. In the long-standing tradition of Dwarf Fortress players everywhere, I also write fiction about the games I play.
17th Moonstone, 101, Early Winter
It all began with Addie MenacedCluster reporting that great dingoes had been spotted out in the woods. This truly seems to be a land of giants, and these beasts are no exception:
Given what happened the last time warlock merchants were in camp, I feel justified in being very cautious about the approach of any wild animal. Our front-line squads are put on high alert, and not a moment too soon, as while the dingoes keep their distance, a much more terrifying threat appears:(read more...)
26th Timber, 101, Late Autumn
Despite us being far from our homes in this frozen waste, it appears that not only are we crawling in traders, but they are unable to unpack their goods without setting something on fire. Imagine my surprise when I made a show of SageEthereal and myself being at the depot to greet them, only to find ourselves surrounded by flames. At first I thought the hill orcs were retaliating due to the senseless loss of their kinsfolk in the trade fire a month before, but it appears that they obtained a barrel of dragonfire—no doubt from the warlocks—and were eager to show us their wares.
25th Timber, 101, Late Autumn
“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.”(read more...)
8th Sandstone, 101 (mid-autumn)
“Clanleader, I don’t think the warlocks took kindly to you refusing to trade.”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
“Sir, the world is on fire…”(read more...)
9th Sandstone, 101 (mid-Autumn)
CptCrunchy sat by the smoking remains of a lynx bone table. As tribe scribe, he took his duties very seriously. While he insisted that to properly account for the tribe’s possessions he needed a better dining room, and living quaters, and study, and maybe a few trophies, he knew all of those would come in time. But for now, he had rolled by the sleve of his cotton fibre shirt to best show off his scars to their new guests.
His left forearm bears a massive straight scar. His right hand bears a massive curving scar. His right foot bears a very long straight scar. His third toe, right foot, is gone.
19th Limestone, 101 (early autumn)
“Sir, there are merchants here to see you. They say they’ve heard of us through the freelancers.”
“Thank you, Jaxy,” said Tarrlox, looking up from a tuskox skull he was decorating. “Please help coordinate moving our goods to the depot. I’ll be out once I’ve finished this project.”(read more...)
Ours is the story of many of the great tribes. The legends tell of inspired leaders, striking their own in the wilderness, building their fledging clan to glory and conquest. The legends tell of heroic acts and great deeds, or bravery and cunning. But I know that many of the great clans started because of fractured tribes, regrouping after the great enemies beset them with steel and cannon. There is much honour in the old ways, but I fear that the glory of the orcish crafters—leather and ironbone, obsidian and raw strength—has met its match against the industry of the dwarves and humans. We fight to bring glory to those who have fought before us, but the humans and dwarves do not fight for honour; they clad themselves in metals that were not from glory in combat, and while it shames them to do so, I cannot argue its effectiveness.
I know all this, and I know that many—nay, most—of those who head into the wilderness are never heard of again. They achieve glory and honour in fighting the elements and the great foes, but all that remains of them now is a shattered spear or rusted arrow-head amongst a circle of stones.
But I speak none of this to the others. Despite our homelands being shattered, they are eager and believe they will be the stuff of legends. I look across the barren wilderness and our meagre supplies, and I hope that they are right.(read more...)