The Diary of Fath Lancerbranded – Woodcutter, Carpenter and Migrant Worker
The wind, she blows. I feel refreshed to be outside, haunted though these surroundings may be. I am a pariah amongst dwarves, more accustomed to the town-living, man-loving, innuendo-ignorant climbs of my homeland. I joined this project because I was promised three times more beer than I would normally swig at home, but now, I wonder, have I made the correct choice? We shall see.
This fledgling fortress shows much promise, and our dwarves are blessed with fortitude – we ought to make the most of our assets before the monsters, they come. In my homeland we would describe the current state of our stockpiles as 'brimstone' because we're brimming with stone.. oh, how we would laugh... spittle spewing, baby scaring, manic guffaws.
We'll need to put all that stone to good use, so I'm ordering the construction of a masonry and stonecrafting section in our newly constructed workshop plaza. If the community would allow it, I'd like to hollow out the roof overlooking our plaza, set out some tables and sun-shades, and create an esplanade along which we could frolic. I doubt the others will allow it, and currently I just want to fit in with my brethren.
I bare grumbles regarding my predecessor. I'll write them here, where he'll never see them, rather than confront him. Firstly, he has clearly no concept of defence. Sure, build a wide staircase heading down into our fortress, but this is a haunted land! He should have created a narrow corridor leading from the staircase to our fortress proper, so that we may set up traps and channel our enemies down a river of their own blood – instead we have an inviting foyer leading to all our stockpiles. I've reinforced our stockpiles with wooden doors until a permanent fix can be devised. Secondly, the mason has set off on a personal mission that'll most probably take up half the season – spread over such a large area that he keeps getting confused, running from room to room, mining a single block, then gleefully running off. I'll have a word with the miner when I'm feeling braver.
I'd like to expand our food production ahead of the doubtless many other migrants who'll be arriving shortly. I've started construction of a second, larger farm, and all the mechanisms and doors required for rather basic evaporation-style irrigation. After that, I'll get to work on a trade depot.
A pity! The job of architect has fallen to the butcher. I would have loved to toil as this fortress' grand designer, and yet, the pragmatic truth is that I have a lot of work to do and our butcher was standing idle. Cruel day.
Our surroundings are rather bleak. A poke around the local area has revealed not a single bush or shrub. Perhaps I ought to search wider afield, else we may need to trade for other arable crops.
Our grower has been designated a mechanic. It seems apt that he should be responsible for the creation of those tiny mechanisms upon which his grand task depends.
As the seasons begin to change, I realise that our food supplies are very low indeed. We have a fisherdwarf, but he'd elected not to bother fishing. I've assigned a spot on the river upon which he can play with his rod in solitude. Hopefully we can survive until a reliable food source is established, or trade for food with the caravan.
It's time to part with my power. I wish that there was some way to keep it. I'll have to think on this. I hope that the next dwarf will manage the fortress wisely. Some of my projects remain incomplete. I wonder if he'll install the mechanisms I've built into doors so that we can irrigate the second farm? I suppose an esplanade by Summer will remain my whimsical dream.