Chapter 41 :: Sagas of Violence and Uncertainty

It is the 10th of Felsite, in the late spring of 1211. As the doomed fortress Roomcarnage grinds forward into its eleventh year, hopes are unusually high amongst the dwarves of the Momentous Dye. And why not? If their current efforts succeed, the trade link with the mountainhome will be reestablished. For several years, the dwarves have been cruelly isolated beneath the haunted glacier known as the Ice of Ghosts, unable to even calculate their own wealth for lack of a skilled appraiser.

This year, the dwarves hope, will be different. A northwestern patch of ice, untouched by the repeated lava floods, has been mostly cleared of undead threats. Only a few smears of foul fog and the littered belongings of the dead mar the sanguine snowscape. Come autumn, if the caravan arrives here, they will find no resistance.

Already a wide tunnel has been carved out, leading from the trade depot to within a few tiles of the exterior. Of course, I'm not too attached to this location - after all, this trade depot has never been used, and can be easily torn out. A better arrangement will be necessary, if Roomcarnage ever hopes to attract the attention of the dwarven aristocracy.

Atop a ledge in the shadow of the ice volcano's northern slopes, the vampire mayor Rith Craftportent stands ever-scheming beside her consort and companion, Dumat Sensesstakes the foul fog zombie diagnoser. When the caravan comes, the outpost liaison will want to meet with Rith, and only Rith - the zombie will scare the liaison away, and attempting to shift mayoral responsibilities to another dwarf will cause the liaison to leave in a huff. Additionally, the trade depot must be accessible to both the merchants and the fortress, but not to Rith Craftportent, lest she sneak inside and go on a killing spree.

Clearly, it is a delicate situation.

Before I can get to work devising a new gateway to the fortress, however, I chance upon a distressing and recent combat report.

The miner Fikod Workerlash lies in a bed in the former infirmary, his ankle broken. At least he is alive - Fikod is a high master miner, a valuable asset to the fortress.

Next to the bed lies the dwarven corpse that attacked him, now dead once more.

How could this have happened? The doors that hold back undead in this part of the fortress are securely locked. They have been, ever since the injured were interred and sealed within, left to die of thirst or starvation. That was years ago, before a source of fresh water was created.

I let the mystery rest for now. The corpse must be disposed of, and quickly. I create a garbage zone over the door in the south wall of the barracks - now a familiar place for corpse-dumping.

Then, I order the corpse to be dumped.

I watch anxiously, waiting for a hauler to arrive. A pair of children wander into the room, oblivious to the danger posed by the body on the floor.

A hauler arrives, but instead of hauling the corpse off to the dump, or Fikod to the infirmary, she grabs and article of clothing!

A worn out pig tail fiber tunic! No!

I wait for several seconds. Damnit, where's that hauler?

I look through the jobs screen, only to find that a "Dump Item" job simply hasn't been created.

If a hauler can't make it in time, the corpse will inevitably reanimate, and then I'll have even more undead on my hands. I deploy the fortress guard.

Mercifully, a dwarf appears a few seconds later and gathers the corpse.

The corpse is hauled up through the old infirmary...

...and into the barracks, where it is tossed out of the garbage door. The guard, slow to react, is barely leaving the barracks by the time the hauler arrives.

The corpse slams into one of the other undead in the caverns. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's time to get to work.

I begin designating the first parts of what will soon become a sort of sub-glacial gatehouse for the fortress. In order to allow the merchants access to the trade depot, while also preventing Rith Craftportent to get inside, a pair of lever-controlled seals will be installed along this hallway. Each seal will consist of two bridges which will raise towards one another, creating a barrier immune to most, if not all threats.

In between these two seals will be the trade depot. I make the room large enough to ensure wagon manoeuvrability. This arrangement will allow the fortress to be sealed by raising the eastern bridges, while still leaving the trade depot exposed to the exterior. When the caravan arrives and begins unloading their goods, the western bridges may be raised, and the eastern bridges lowered, allowing trade to be safely conducted without threats from outside...

...threats such as Rith Craftportent. The vampire mayor will reside just outside the western seal, in a suite of rooms carved out of the glacier itself. She'll need an office, of course, and since I'm feeling generous, I suppose she can have a dining room and a bedroom as well - not that she needs, or would even use them.

My labors are interrupted, once again, by shrieks of terror ringing out through the fortress. Another undead has escaped!

This time, at least, it seems that the fortress' dogs have the situation more or less under control.

Once again, it's a corpse that has somehow escaped from the infirmary.

I double check. A chill runs down my spine. Wasn't there a corpse in this room only a few minutes ago? I check the door - sure enough, it's been unlocked.

Someone - or something - is unlocking doors in the fortress.

Once again, I order the military to attack the undead.

The battle rages in the tight corridor as dwarf upon dwarf and dog upon dog pile on top of the undead. The dwarves of the Momentous Dye are surprisingly violent.

Then again, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised - after all, they are dwarves, and this is Roomcarnage.

The finishing blow is struck by a dwarven child. Typical.

I wade through the pile of fortress denizens to order the corpse to be dumped.

Fortunately, this time one of the dwarves involved in the combat, still close at hand, takes up the job of hauling the corpse.

I take a moment and check the rooms in the former infirmary. At the turn of the year, there were six corpses locked up in these rooms. Now there are four. I quickly look through the units screen, but there are no ghosts to be found.

I sigh, and watch as the corpse is dumped out of the fortress and into the caverns. It is a mystery that will remain, for the moment, unsolved, but I know that whatever unlocked those doors will come again. A cool draft blows across my feet, and I shiver with the thought of other malign intelligences residing in Roomcarnage. For the sake of my own sanity, I put the thought from my mind and return to the new construction.

The miners are just arriving at the dig site.

With their skills and numbers, the miners make quick work of the glacial ice.

One of the benefits of a long-lived fortress is having a skilled population capable of handling large tasks in a relatively short amount of time.

Indeed, for a fortress such as Roomcarnage, the ability to respond quickly and in force can mean the difference between another year or crumbling into history.

Suddenly, a kobold ambush arrives! Kobolds occupy an infamous position in this saga, for it was the kobolds who first brought the foul fog to Roomcarnage. They are also the only humanoid creature besides the dwarves themselves to visit Roomcarnage, braving the hellish voyage across the Ice of Ghosts.

These kobolds, however, are not infected by foul fog.

They will fight the local undead inhabitants. For the time being - until they die, or are turned into a foul fog zombie - they are on the side of the living. I watch as they descend upon a nearby undead, their copper and silver weaponry doing little to damage the monster. A few missiles comprised of a white substance whiz across the battlefield.

This unholy creature is Nelo Mistystrap the Pristine Skins, a tundra titan foul fog zombie.

Nelo's simultaneously scaly and hairy hide is dented and smashed open, but the terrifying monster still moves.

A well-aimed ball of frozen spittle can do severe damage to living creatures.

The kobolds are brave, I will give them that. But they cannot win.

Two of their number lay unconscious in the snow, their own blood mingling with that of the surrounding landscape, but the other three bravely charge the undead tundra titan.

The kobolds land bow after blow upon Nelo Mistystrap, their short swords tearing apart the beasts scales, but cutting no deeper.

One of the kobolds passes out from the pain after being struck by a frozen bolt of spittle, but the other two stoically fight on.

The battle rages and rages. The foul fog titan spits frozen extract everywhere - a few missiles find their mark, and shatter bone. I know how this will end - all the kobolds will be shambling undead, and the tundra titan will continue lumbering about the map, its slavering maw jagged with frozen spittle.

The first phase of the gatehouse's construction is complete.

Now, the bridges must be placed. There are four in total, two per seal - I take care to order the direction in which each will be raised.

Also, the mayor's quarters must be furnished.

I do a quick check of her thoughts and preferences to see if she has any material preferences that might be exploited. The mayor has grown thin over the years, and she's quite content despite being caught out in the freakish weather for years now.

It's not until I go back and examine the images I've collected that I notice the corruption. When I do, my heart stops and an unholy chill sinks deep into my flesh. For a few seconds, I fight off the sensation that there's something just a few millimeters beyond my laptop's LCD screen, something dark and malign and profoundly evil staring back out at me.

I examine her profile for relationships, and find she has only one.

The Superior Lances are another dwarven civilization - Rith is the only dwarf in the fortress who worships this foreign deity.

Enough fact-checking. I queue up the required furniture in a mason's workshop by hand.

Then, I allow this workshop to be used only by Rimtar Gateechoed, the fortress' most talented mason.

In the meantime, I order the floor of the new mayoral suite to be smoothed. It will be a curious set of chambers, with floors of gleaming, monolithic volcanic glass, and walls of rough-hewn glacial ice.