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I am indeed retired, although the government will be fine without me, I'm sure.
Still married, though. Marriage consumes more time than working for the government. With this in mind, if you don't see KKK updating as frequently as you expect, that's because Mrs. Grimwulf wrote another chores list.
So the difference between marriage and KKKommunism is: in KKKommunism you lose all your propertiy, it now belongs to everyone. In marriage you lose all your property, it now belongs to your wife.
What does that mean for marriage IN KKKommunism? You are married to everyone? Your wife belongs to everyone? Your wife's name is "everyone"?
Reporting for duty! I want to be a peasant dwarf for I shall inherit the earth but not it's riches.
if not a baker, because CHANT DE LA VICTOIRE
if not oil presser, because CARA AL SOL.
Also I volunteer for being part of militia; wear blue shirt, white pants, with red hat; armed with a silver crossbow (when available, wood is fine) for that awesome grouped volley fire!
Sign me up too please. Don’t know what all the jobs are but if I get a say in it, preferably something useless vital to the development of kkk like an artist or painter. Someone has to make the propaganda posters after all.
to absolutely no one's surprise, Kalin is a useless piece of shit who can't be relied upon to accomplish the most meager of tasks, let alone act as an overseer. hopefully before long a big ass rock falls on his empty skull while he's sleeping, ending the misery that is his waking life. for the good of the fortress.
to absolutely no one's surprise, Kalin is a useless piece of shit who can't be relied upon to accomplish the most meager of tasks, let alone act as an overseer. hopefully before long a big ass rock falls on his empty skull while he's sleeping, ending the misery that is his waking life. for the good of the fortress.
I am indeed retired, although the government will be fine without me, I'm sure.
Still married, though. Marriage consumes more time than working for the government. With this in mind, if you don't see KKK updating as frequently as you expect, that's because Mrs. Grimwulf wrote another chores list.
You're retired hey? Are you sure your name shouldn't be Grannywulf then?
Jokes aside, welcome back bröther. The Codex Playground is a brighter place every time you start one of your mad LPs. May Amrath bless your alchoholic soul
I thought about signing up too, but unless Grimwulf runs a Ctulu mod allowing my true form to join, someone with mad photochop skillzzz would need to add a beard to the old pic. Wait, I was a female tentacle, right? Ah, dwarves, beard makes sense either way.
Everyone's here, Kommissar. Now, will you kindly show us the blueprints of Angèrith?
What you're about to see is mind-shattering. Brilliant and confusing in equal measure. My masterpiece. My fetus.
Gross.
I'll start from the surface level and go down from there. This part is what the visitors will see when they first arrive in Redlabored.
Exciting! What was your source of inspiration? Other fortresses?
I drew inspiration from my head.
Oh. Are we going to see something innovative?
No, I mean it literally. The entryway is shaped like my head.
What am I looking at?
A dwarven head with a beard. But also a fortification.
This looks nothing like a dwarven head, Kommissar.
You look, but you don't see, Azira. As I was saying, the only way to enter the fort is through the Beard Gates.
The Beard Gates..? Sometimes it's hard to tell if you're joking or not.
I don't do jokes. Ever. And yes, all names are working titles, if you got any better suggestions - shoot.
The Architectural Horror?
The Boozeborn Passage?
Kalin's TripleDick.
You're all too sober to come up with decent names, so we'll get back to it later. On the schemes, you can see three long passages, three "braids," leading to the inner courtyard. East and west braids are intended for visitors and residents. The central braid is trapped with sharp spikes that spring from the ground once someone steps on the pressure plate.
We got it, your idea is to close the portcullis if we spot approaching enemy forces.
Aye, we shall put east and west braids on lockdown, leaving the central one as the only way in.
Sharp spikes won't kill anybody, save for a bunch of clumsy goblins.
Those spikes are meant as foreplay. The actual rape begins in the Grim Courtyard:
Okay, first, nobody does foreplay before raping. Second, the whole rape metaphor is inappropriate at best. Third, The Grim Courtyard? Seriously? And last, what on earth is The Tower of Smells?
Ever seen human bowyer towers?
More or less the same, except this one here has no doors.
No doors? How so?
The only way inside the tower is from below. From Redlabored underneath. The tower itself is a three-story building, not counting the underground part. Here, let me draw it real quick:
You are so bad at drawing, Kommissar.
On the ground floor, we have ballista, loaded and ready to shoot through the battlements. Second floor holds living quarters - beds and tables. As for the third floor, it has training grounds and battlements all around. This is where our future squad of marksdwarves will train, eat, sleep, and defend the fortress. Right below the Tower of Smells is a storage room full of drinks, food, and ammunition.
Why is it called "Tower of Smells"?
Picture an army of filthy goblins running through a long narrow passage which is the Central Braid, dying on sharp spikes, being shot from a dozen crossbows, impaled by ballista bolts.
Gibs me a hard-on. BIG TIME!
Now imagine the stench from all those rotting corpses a few weeks later. That's what you have to deal with as a marksdwarf of Angèrith. You gotta breathe. Take it all in. Embrace the smell of Glory.
You need help, Grimwulf. Some serious help.
Remember, good doctor Azira is always here for you.
What about these "Watcher" thingies?
Passageways leading down.
Why did you name them "Watchers"?
Because I'm always watching, Skewer! Now. The visitor goes down and finds himself in--
The fortress!
Another passageway.
Then he goes down one more level and enters--
The fortress!
Another passageway.
And THEN, as he goes down yet another level, he can FINALLY behold--
Redlabored!
A passageway.
Oh, for Olon's sake, Kommissar! Can't we do stairs? Like all the sane building designers?
I can only assume he wants the merchant caravans to fit their wagons inside these passages.
We can set up a trade depot on the surface. Problem solved.
Or make a downward spiral slope that would make actual sense. Grimwulf, you do realize those "passageways" are ridiculous, right?
You CANNOT POSSIBLY COMPREHEND the importance of the first impression! Can't you see? Everyone coming down these long, winding corridors, will feel small. Insignificant. I want my message to get through those thick merchant skulls.
And that message is... what? "We are all special down here?"
"Angèrith doesn't need you"
Yeah. "Unless you're a dwarf therapist"
Anyway, six levels below ground, we have The Passage of Memories.
Just what we needed. More walking.
Walls decorated by our best engravers, showing off the history of Redlabored.
We don't have any engravers, Grim.
That's the least of our problems. How hard can it be to engrave our "history"? Which is Kalin hauling the wagon from Plankplunged, and then Kalin failing his job as the manager.
*raises a pickaxe* My pick. YOUR ASS!
Didn't mean it as an insult. Merely stating facts.
Our history will grow rich and glorious, mark my words. Now, do you see the stairs to the south?
Yes, we do. After suffering through those needless passageways, we finally end up at the stairway? Why?
Hrm? Nah, these stairs don't go down. They lead up to our current outpost. To be more specific, to the central storage area. This way, we can move between the outpost and construction site in no time. Naturally, we'll get rid of the stairway once we move our stuff inside Redlabored.
Riiight. So, in order to get to Redlabored from the Passage of Memories--
One needs to go down through another passageway.
If I were a merchant, I would turn around a long time ago. Maybe after two or three of your bullshit "passageways."
That's the point, Mark. That's the point.
It's Me-- ah, forget it.
I'm NOT gonna dig dis shit. Not me. You can suck mah dick. Call him "da manager," OK?
You will dig what I tell you to dig, arrogant son of a troll! If you think the tunnels are too much, then ohhhh, you're in for a treat. Because eight levels below the surface is where the real digging starts. Dwarves! Komrades! THIS is Redlabored:
No.
No. No, no, no.
Just... No.
Yeah, no.
... No.
FUCK. YOU.
Beautiful, isn't it?
This is not how you plan a dwarf fortress. Your layout is insane. And stupid.
Not saying I'm an expert, but placing everything on one level doesn't seem to be, umm, efficient.
Kommunism is not about being efficient, Sewers! It's about feeling efficient.
Hah, good point. Still don't get it, but you sound confident.
I'll chew it down for you. Look at Kalin.
Um, okay..?
Imma pluck yer eyes from da fuckin' eyesockets, bitch!
A regular komrade, nothing special about him. He wakes up at 4 AM here in Redlabored. Another day, another chance to be useful. He would have breakfast, but he can't afford it, not to mention he is falling behind schedule already. So there he is, running across the labyrinth of streets and structures, struggling to find an entrance to the mines. He's been around for several years, but he still can't remember the location of his workplace. Maybe because it's hard to orient among the sprawling maze that is Angèrith. Maybe because he's not the sharpest crayon in the box. Maybe both.
I'll put your FAT ASS in da fuckin' box, ye prick. A TOMB-BOX! *spits*
In any case, while desperately searching for the mines, Kalin can't help but feel oppressed in this dwarven hive. The same recurring realization hits him like a war hammer to the head. "I am but a cog in this massive mechanism. I am insignificant. Easily replaceable. I am nothing."
Wot--
Confused. Depressed. Frustrated. Kalin's not in shape to work right now. So he tries to find his way to the nearest tavern, spending a good portion of the day while doing so. Eventually, he succeeds, only to find the dwarves inside are glum and unfriendly at best. Each with their own luggage of problems and personal issues. Nobody gives two shits about Kalin.
Da fu--
The food is bland. The drinks, tasteless. Everything around him is colorless, shades of gray. Or should I say was colorless until he stumbled and fell in a drunken stupor? Now his leg is broken, some bones protruding curiously from his flesh. Blood everywhere. Red blood. Some colors at last.
A'rite, dat's it--
We see Kalin crawling to the hospital, but we don't give a damn. Just another unlucky bastard here in Redlabored. No time to think about it, since there is so much work to do. However, one dwarf addresses Kalin on his way to the hospital, only saying "NOT AGAIN!" It was the janitor realizing he has to clean Kalin's blood trail from the streets.
Grim, maybe that's eno--
Kalin has a natural talent for crawling. He makes it to the hospital. Naturally, the small hospital of Redlabored is full. And also understaffed. Kalin has to wait in the line before a doctor tends to his injury. And while doing so, Kalin bleeds out.
HE WOT?!
Kalin's corpse is just laying on the bench at the hospital's entry hall for a few days or so. Dwarves don't care - some smelly homeless drunkard fell asleep, so what? Kalin's already rotting by the time his son finds him by sheer chance. You all know what's going on in the head of Kalin's son at the moment. He thinks, "Now I can move to father's apartment."
This is genuinely horrible.
And THAT is the moment when a dwarf - Kalin's son in this case - comes to realize just how efficient this fortress is! Want not; waste not.
*with no particular expression on his face, Kalin grabs a barrel of ale and goes to the dormitory, locking the door behind*
This is your future, komrades. You new life.
Just tell us what to do.
WHAT? Wait, can we discuss it for a b--
We'll start by digging out the entrance area.
Two barracks: one for our elite squad, one for everybody else. Marksdwarves will have a separate barracks in the Tower of Smells. A dormitory for new arrivals and guests. A trade depot. A broker's office, one of the smallest rooms in Redlabored. And the main square, which is not really our main one. But since most visitors will be prohibited from entering the actual fortress, it will be the main square for them. If any foe ever breaches our defenses, military dwarves will face them in the main square.
Makes sense so far, surprisingly.
Awright, next. The Grand Hall and surroundings.
What do you mean by--
No time to explain! Next, we have the Kommunalka.
You will live, sleep, suffer and die here. And be thankful for it! The Kommunalka comes with three types of rooms for the full Kommunalka experience.
The manager will assign rooms to each komrade. As Redlabored grows, the manager might appoint the domkom, a person who will manage Kommunalka on behalf of the manager. Awright. NEXT, the Industrial Districts.
Workshops and warehouses, the heart of Angèrith.
Can't we place stockpi-- I mean, warehouses underneath the workshops? As in, on a different level?
No.
Why?
NEXT QUESTION.
What's what?
Eh?
Where is the smithy? Carpentry? Kitchen? Which of these structures are the warehouses?
Yes.
Yes what?
Bugger off, Savanna. When I was designing this layout, I was, what you might call--
Drunk?
Inspired. So I might have forgotten to make notes. Not saying I did, but I might have.
Are you saying you don't remember the purpose of these buildings?
We'll figure it out as we go.
I can't believe this is happening.
Speaking of buildings and purposes, what is this?
I'm tired of your banter. Titty-Deer! Find Kalin and start digging! I WANT TO HEAR THOSE PICKS CRUSHING THE STONE BENEATH ME, understand?!
*nods*
Start with setting up two-- no, make it THREE mason's workshops. Half of you are masons from now on, congratulations! I want stone blocks IN BULK. Well, what are you waiting for? Go, go, GO!!
10th Hematite, 125, Early Summer
Turns out, there was a layer of basalt underneath us.
One couldn't ask for better building material. Aesthetically pleasing and magma-safe.
A bit tough to dig through. A fact I'm constantly reminded by Kalin's unending screams and swears coming from below.
At least Grimwulf is happy. Although it's hard to tell when he's happy, he never laughs or even smiles. Just shakes his beard vigorously.
13th Hematite, 125, Early Summer
It's a welcome change to have our manager spending entire days underground. Nobody is shouting at me for "being a useless little fuck." Well, except for Grimwulf. But it's not often we see each other, so everything's fine.
Not too sure what should I do. I don't have any ingredients left to cook. I could probably plant some seeds, but Kalin didn't say anything about planting, so maybe I shouldn't?
14th Hematite, 125, Early Summer
While doing nothing in particular, I've spotted a group of merchants coming our way! A human caravan!
It will take time for their wagons to get to the trading post and unload the wares, but I'm so pumped already!
So good we've managed to build that bridge just in time.
Maybe we can buy cats?
16th Hematite, 125, Early Summer
Meanwhile in the Dining Room
We have guests, Grim. But you probably know that already.
Does it look like I care?
Being the broker and the bookkeeper, I say we can sell a good portion of our food stocks to the humans. Nobody here likes Sqeecoo's cooking anyway, and I might be able to convince them we're selling exotic delicacies.
Are you out of your mind? We shall NOT sell our food, Azira! Forget it!
Well, we cannot sell any booze either. It would be nice to buy some. How about Merc's woodcrafts? We have a stepladder and some buckets lying around. I doubt they are worth anything, but still.
No chance.
You are not making this easy, Kommissar. Kalin's copper war hammer? Think about it. Copper war hammer? Might as well use a wooden one.
Over my dead fucking body.
Damn it, Grim! What do you want me to do? If we don't trade anything, the merchants are unlikely to revisit us. As a new fortress, Angèrith desperately needs to build up a good reputation.
I don't care, Azira! Find some junk to sell! Stop bothering your Kommissar and come up with something! I'm surrounded by incompetent loiterers, farkin' hell. *goes to his private quarters*
I'm starting to doubt my decision to apply for the broker's position.
Later that day
Greetings, humans! And welcome to Redlabored. Welcome.
I've noticed you have a young fortress here, but still... Dwarves living in a muddy den like this?
A minor and very temporary inconvenience, I assure you.
I certainly hope so. Well then, my dwarven friend, what can your fortress offer for trading?
Redlabored might not have a lot of goods for exchange, but those that we do have are of the highest quality.
This is why I am always on a lookout for dwarven traders. Just love doing business with you, little bastards.
Behold the marvelous creation of nature given shape and purpose by dwarven hands. I present you--
... Leather?
Horse leather.
Ah, I understand now. This is dwarven humor, right? Heh heh, good one. Although we don't have much time for jokes.
How much booze can you offer in exchange?
In exchange for what? A piece of horse leather? That's it?
I would ask to mind your manners. This leather was taken from the greatest horse ever to roam the world, knows as, ah, Limpinfukr. Surely you've heard of her?
I did not.
Notice the tanner's work. It takes a great deal of patience and scrutiny to produce leather of such quality. And I should know. Tanned this piece myself.
Except it's torn nearly in half. Look, dwarf. I don't sell cheap booze. The cheapest item in my stock is... I don't even... Clay, I guess? Do you want a lump of clay?
Tell you what. I'll give you this piece of leather in exchange for another piece of leather. A symbolic gesture to ensure long-lasting trade relations between our nations.
Load the wagons, boys! We're leaving. Coming here was a waste of time.
You know what's funny? That horse wasn't hard to butcher and skin. As if she was willing to help the tanner.
What can I say? Enjoy your leather, dwarf.
But that dwarf I skinned about ten years ago - now that took some serious effort.
You did what..?
I know what you're thinking. "How hard can it be to skin such a small creature?" Hell, that's what I thought while hauling his body to the basement. But dwarven skin is unbelievably tough. The inner layer has this fat - not your regular fat, mind you - dwarven fat. Very sticky. Takes hours to peel off.
We should go...
As I was admiring my work - a beautiful piece of dwarven leather ready for use - a curious thought had entered my mind. I realized that if I managed to tan a dwarven skin, I could tan a human without any problems.
Be warned, dwarf! We are all well-armed and ready for anything!
Hmm? Oh, you must have misunderstood me. Take the horse leather. Consider it a gift from Redlabored.
A... Gift? Right. I... will see that our leader gets this offering.
You do that. And remember, we will expect your caravans here. Frequently.