...continued from part one

The southern edge of the flood, like a fiery wave crashing against a frozen shore, surges eastward towards the map's edge.

I reassess the situation. The deluge continues, but seems to be affecting little else besides the northern hollow left behind years ago by the second flooding.

Meanwhile, the eastern edge of the deluge has almost reached the edge of the map, and is bound on both sides by obsidian embankments. I doubt that much else will happen here, once the edge of the map is reached.

At least the lava is creating this interesting formation as it fills up the hollow. I watch, while keeping an eye on the minimap.


It looks as if the eastern flood is almost finished.


That's it, I guess. I decide to keep the weapon running for as long as I can, just in case something else unpredictably happens.

The northern hollow has filled at this level, and so the flood just might pour over the edges and somehow cause more havoc before I finally have to shut down the weapon.

As I steel myself for disappointment, an unexpected visitor arrives. Another titan - this time, perhaps, a little more prepared for the cold weather.

Examining the monster, it seems to have an incredible number of minor injuries throughout its entire body - including its brain and heart. Is it some kind of frostbite?

Curiously, no explanation is given in the titan's description. Hmm.

I watch Nelo Mistystrap the Pristine Skins for several seconds, but nothing happens. It stands there at the edge of the map, quietly flicking out its forked tongue to taste the frozen glacier air.

I take the opportunity to briefly check back in on the flooding. To the south, the deluge has expanded a little, but results don't look promising.

Nor do they to the north - most of the lava seems to be pouring eastward, straight off the edge of the map.

I return my attention to Nelo Mistystrap, and find the tundra titan fighting the undead. Commendable, but I doubt that the titan will last very long.

A corpse manages to get in a solid punch, and fractures the titan's right front foot.

The titan falls over, unable to stand, although it still spits frozen "extract" at the other zombies nearby.

The towering monitor lizard crushes the nearby corpses with relative ease, although it is only a temporary victory.

Nelo crawls north, but doesn't get far before one of the recently defeated corpses rises again.

More undead approach as the tundra titan engages the reanimating corpse - the beast cannot hold out forever.

For all its size and power, the monitor titan struggles to defeat an undead chicken.

Then - suddenly - the battle is over.

A sickening feeling creeps through my viscera.

I drag the cursor towards the titan, confirming my fears.

A quick look at the corpse standing next to the titan explains how this happened - the undead struck the hairy monitor with its right hand, which was coated with foul fog.

Well, damn.

I had hoped that, once the remaining surfaces of the glacier had been isolated, a combination of military force and corpse incineration might be able to rid the map of undead.

This unholy monstrosity, to put it lightly, has thrown a wrench in the works.

I look back at the flooding - things haven't progressed at the south side of the flood...

...or to the north.

I guess it's time to call it quits.

I order the lever controlling the weapon's primary safety to be pulled.

The lowermost hatches snap shut, and the weapon pumps the last bit of lava out into the vent above.

Then, I deactivate the pumps.

The small army of pump operators return to the heart of the fortress for a well-deserved drink.

On the surface, molten rock dribbles out of the eastern vent as the deluge subsides. The last great flooding is complete - the dwarves have achieved the goal they set long ago, and have covered the majority of the map with purifying flame.

However, it seems likely that more flooding may be necessary - to deal with some of the more unsavory threats that have taken up residence upon the surface as of late.

I have some time to decide where to go from here - the volcano will take some time to refill. I am in no rush.

As I'm deliberating, a weaver is taken with a strange mood.

Good - a legendary weaver is a boon to any fortress. Roomcarnage's hardest times, I sense, are yet to come, and I welcome any asset that might prove valuable to the fortress.

As the weaver gathers his materials, I look back at the flood. The lava is beginning to subside, but a cloud of billowing smoke catches my attention. It seems to be originating from within the lava lake itself.

Ah, of course. The foul fog zombie that was caught in the vent when the flood began. It will burn forever.

The weaver begins working...

...and a moment later, yet another uninvited guest arrives. This time, it's a horrific trunked web-throwing rabbit.

Fascinating. I might consider catching such a beast, for use in a silkfarm... but Roomcarnage has other priorities.

Besides, the beast will probably die soon enough anyway...

...as have other forgotten beasts, locked in eternal combat with reanimating undead in the caverns.

Still, the crimson-haired one-eyed rabbit's webs would at least provide some variety in the textile industry, which might increase the number of happy thoughts...

...but so would having a legendary weaver! Praise Armok!

The skirt is a true masterpiece.

I glance around the map, taking mental inventory of the state of things. Rith Craftportent still stands exactly where she was before the last flood, engaged in her perpetual meeting with the foul fog zombie diagnoser.

Where do we go from here? The dwarves of the Momentous Dye stand at a crossroads. Many paths wind on before them, fraught with pain and suffering and eternal damnation, sharing amongst them all a single destination - glory. Each road has its dangers, its challenges, and not one seems sure - and why should they? An unavoidable, unspeakable fate awaits every dwarf in Roomcarnage, and even the brightest, most triumphant victory will only be a preface to ultimate defeat.

It is the 6th of Obsidian, in the late winter of 1210. In a month's time, the fortress will celebrate the tenth year of its founding - yet for most of that time, the dwarves of the Momentous Dye have cowered beneath the earth, behind locked doors and halls sealed with stone. Will they ever reestablish contact with the outside world? Or will they crumble away before the forces of evil, alone in the dark, their fate a mystery to all except the ghosts haunting the ruins of Roomcarnage? In the decades to come, will tales be told in the mountainhome of how the dwarves of the Momentous Dye, against all odds, overcame the greatest foe ever faced by dwarves - or will the tales instead be whispered conjectures and speculations, dimly guessing at the fates of those damned few who made the journey to the Oily Furnace, never to be seen again?

Only time will tell.