![]() And luckily, their sergeant had needed to look no further than the new mayor to find one. Nomal’s ten rookie dwarves, without a day’s fighting experience between them, had been wanting for a unit name. As well as replacing the squad’s casualties, the War Mayor had promoted one of its members - the wild wrestler called Nomal, known as the Carnival of Fists thanks to her actions in the melee - to lead a new squad of her own. In fact, if I’m honest, he seems a better mayor than the vain and uptight Urist, and even than Lorbam who, let’s face it, was pretty weird.Īs soon as victory had been declared on the Ridge, Dashmob had taken the place of the fallen macedwarf Eshtan in order to lead the Salves of Shade, the squad at the core of the fort’s military. He values fairness, co-operation, merrymaking and knowledge, and absolutely loves toy boats (I’ve put several on pedestals in the mayoral office for him to enjoy). He’s mellow and laid-back, full of love and positivity, and wants nothing more than to protect his family and friends. ![]() I really wanted to play a sort of grim authoritarian dictatorship angle with Dashmob, but the problem is, he actually seems a pretty lovely guy. His scars speak for themselves, and he’s already drawn approving nods from Id, who knows a fellow snake-mangler when he sees one. All are mementos of his many kills out on the savage plains known as the Grey Prairie, where he served as a soldier for the Mountainhome. His leg-thick arms clatter with rhino tooth bracelets, while around his neck hangs a garland of mamba fangs. One look at Dashmob tells you all you need to know about his history with animal husbandry. It’s a bit like one of those telly programmes where Gordon Ramsay gets sent to a hotel to shout at everyone for keeping raw chicken in the toilets. Dashmob has a job to do, and no time to consider the whimsical business of developing a zoo. He reckons he’ll enjoy running this fort in time, but he knows as well as anyone that there’ll be nothing to enjoy if he can’t strengthen the fort enough to survive the goblins’ inevitable return. An axedwarf with a truly interstellar gut and intimidation skills to match, he’s the very definition of a unit, and precisely the sort of leader the dwarves of the Basement were clamouring for in the aftermath of the goblin raid. This is Dashmob Domainworks, and he is the War Mayor. Leaning on the palmwood windowsill, he chews thoughtfully on a piece of dried horse kidney, and considers his position. The back of summer might be broken, but the heat is still intense, and he’s glad the tower is high enough to catch the breeze that ruffles the top of the rainforest canopy. It’s four weeks after the battle of Carambola Ridge, and the mayoral tower’s new occupant is surveying the bustling valley below. But if the Basement’s founder Lorbam hoped to resume business as usual in her weird little zoo when the dust cleared, she was sorely mistaken… Last time on the BoC: The arrival of marauding goblins ended the brief rule of the usurping mayor Urist, and the battle to drive them off saw the fort’s first non-accidental fatalities, as well as the emergence of several new heroes. Guess some more bedrooms would need hollowing out of the rock.This is The Basement Of Curiosity, a weekly Dwarf Fortress diary chronicling Nate Crowley's attempts to build an illegal, underground zoo in everyone's favourite text based dwarf management game. They got scared off and appeared to leave with nothing in their mitts.Īs spring approached we got news of a huge wave of migrant would be coming any day now. The collection of miscellaneous pets running around did spot a kobold or two trying to pinch some rock coffers. Hope that doesn’t turn into chop-off-everyone’s-head-choly. One guy failed to find any bones for his strange mode and is wandering around feeling melancholy. Oh yes he died in the main dining room where children and kittens were running over his body and eating their fish fingers. Goose or some other bird must’ve been “in” this christmas as we started out this spring with a rafter of turkeys.Ī dwarf died for some reason, claimed it was of thirst but he was sat about 10 yards from the booze pile and started rotting and stinking the place out with miasma :/ I made a corpse pile outside and his stinking carcass was hauled out and the fresh air cleaned the place up in no time. The fortress has taken shape and the bare essentials are carved out of the hillside. A fairly quiet first year was had at Holdstake.
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