3rd Hematite, 1051. Thob Tashemcatten's Journal

Among Dwarves, there is a singular rule: you've either helped to found Mountainhome, or you were born in Mountainhome. And no dwarf is entitled to anything by birth. It is the work of our hands, the sweat on our brows, and the blood on our axes that makes a dwarf.

And so, that is part of the reason why I set out when the call for volunteers was put out. We live in Zaludoram, "The Future World" - and I intend to make the future mine. And so, our band, Nomal Stingbol, "The Staff of Barbarians" set out.

It was in the spring of 1051 that the seven of us arrived here.

It was only after a long, grueling, and otherwise unventful journey that we arrived at this place. Very seldom do the dwarven expeditions have a set destination beyond a region. But this place was to be our home, partially out of promise, partially out of necessity. Our supplies had begun to run low.

The first order of business is always to find a defensible, accessible, and resource-rich site. Inevitably we dwarves come to conflict with our neighbors. With that in mind, a small face of the mountain near a babbling brook was to be where we struck the earth.
Perhaps out of a sense of irony, perhaps out of grim awareness, our fortress, Rakustebal ("Tombsrevered"), was founded. Everyone one of us knew well how often expeditions and fortresses failed. Should we succeed, the name will tell the generations to come of the failures we've avoided. Should we fail, the name will be all too fitting.

The plan was simple: carve a modest but useful entrance to this fortress, and create a place for us to live. Moreover, we needed to create a suitable space for our supply caravan's arrival in the Autumn. As a matter of practicality, our supplies had to be moved to transition areas outside of our fortress. Within hours of our arrival, work was in progress:

In those first days, everyone's days are alike: dig, unload our wagon, and consolidate our supplies. But in time, the task is completed, and other priorities can be seen to:

As the spring drew to a close, we completed our kitchen, brewery, food stockpiles, and dining hall. Food production, however, had not begun.

In the days to come, the survival of this fortress depends on me, Thob Tashemcatten, a humble farmer. The work of my hands will decide whether we live or we die, thrive or scrape by. I pray to Doren Asenid, deity and patron of my people, that I do not fail.

I'm addicted to this game

Dwarf Fortress is a lot of things. First and foremost, it's an amazingly fun sandbox game. The premise of this incredibly complex game is actually fairly simple: set out with a band of Dwarves and construct a massive fortress. From there your dwarves will dig, fight, and drink their way to success, followed by their eventual destruction and failure.

There really isn't a win condition, per se. Just a lot of ways to lose. And losing is quite entertaining. So far I've managed to flood my fortress with water, flood my fortress with lava, kill half my population via Carp attacks, and starve to death.



This blog will chronicle the epics of a fortress. I tend to take liberties with the game code, and I will mod it in the interest of causing all sorts of hilarious shenanigans and spicing things up as the fortress progresses. I plan to shift writing styles, whether it's an in-character view from interesting dwarves, or as some omnipotent narrator. It will be a grand experiment! With screenshots and probably lots of Dwarf Death.