13th Slate, 1053, Etur "Iltaran" Kibokun, Acting Overseer and PresserIn my defence, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
You see, I'm a Presser, a noble but badly underappreciated profession. Anyone who's ever tasted the wonders of bumblebee mead will know what I'm talk about. Admittedly we dont have it as bad as soapmakers, but I digress. Anyway, not only am I a Presser in a fortress without some much as a single beehive or quarry bush crop, but there's three of us! When the higher ups started talking about starting a militia, it didn't take a genius to guess who was going to get handed a crossbow and sent out to face the hordes of darkness. So when the previous overseer dumped his records in the dining room and declared he was going to bed for the next year, I saw my chance. See, nobody asks many questions if you just shout loudly and look like you know what you're doing. I knew I could do the shouting bit and how hard could the rest of the job be? Besides, it'd keep me out of the militia.
I think Osram and Deler were laughing at me.
Evidently Indirik (my predecessor) had a thing for mazes, because I spent half a day trying to find my way around the new housing level. According to the notes, I have to finish furnishing the place, which is going to be
fun. I think I'll borrow one of the ropes and tie it to something near the stairwell just in case. Half the fortress is currently employed dragging stone out of there and the miners are digging out a second, identical, level. At least it keeps everyone busy and not asking questions.
After I found myself out of there, I decided to get onto important things; starting a militia that didn't include me. Apparently Vucar Tathururvad knew a lot about fighting, always talking about Ballistas and things, so I appointed him Militia Commander and engaged in a highly scientific process of picking the best recruits; namely grabbing the ones who knew enough to duck in a drunken brawl. These brave souls were rounded out by the three least competent dwarves in the fortress. Power is fun! Only one problem; the names Commander Vucar picked out for the squads. His own squad are the Fenced Tightnesses, while the archers have been dubbed The Massive Mines. Not sure this sort of thing is appropriate for a family fortress...
On the subject of our defences, there seems to be a minor flaw in the walls. They've got more holes in them than the honeycomb I used to press. I keep finding holes and ordering them patched, but I'm a Presser, not a military engineer damnit.
Happily in the middle of Granite, our Weaponsmith, Onul, finally stopped talking to himself in the forge and came out proudly (but carefully) carrying the biggest, spikiest iron spike I've ever seen. He calls it Allasotsus and, well, see for yourself.
I told Onul to make a bunch of warhammers. Seemed wise not to encourage the spike-obsession. He started talking about ways to add spikes to warhammers. Staying away from the forge henceforth.
We just had a group of migrants arrive. On the bright side, several of them know the pointy end of a weapon from the end you hold. On the downside, they walked through another hole in the walls. Our supply situation is also looking rather worrying. Not to mention that we need to start making some steel armour for the militia.
Why did I take this job again?
