Overseer 1.7

I checked on the status of my dwarves, looking for any who were in distress before going to sleep. One of the masons had walled herself into a place she couldn't get out of. She was hungry and thirsty. I designated a wall segment for deconstruction, and she tore through it in seconds, running for the drink depot.

The magma cisterns were still empty. Why?

I checked on Iton, and Brok who were digging the exploration shaft in such a way that it was convertible into a pump stack. I had assigned them to keep digging down till they found magma.

I found them, but they were incredibly far away. Miles away, straight down. And they were both hungry and thirsty. Dwarves could move quickly, but I could see that Iton and Bron were in bad shape, moving slowly back up the shaft that went... Damn. Ten miles down?

This was a panic moment. Iton was another of the original fortress dwarves. He had always been a miner. Nothing else. I always needed something dug, and Iton wasn't a very social dwarf. Even though he was not very social, he did take breaks, and been around a long time. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. A lot like Tikon. And he was going to die. He was too far away from the nearest food and drink depot to survive the return trip.

Aaaargh! I do NOT need a tantrum spiral now! I reached into my cabinet next to the bed for my mug and threw it with all my might across the room. It smashed against the wall with a satisfying crack, breaking. I smiled in satisfaction.

I need a drink. Badly. I stood up off the edge of the bed and reached into my cabinet for my mug so I could go get a beer. The mug was gone. I turned my head, and saw the shattered masterpiece jade mug set with opals and rubies laying in pieces. I could feel Goduk, the legendary stonecrafter who had made the mug growing furious at the destruction of one of his eleven thousand masterpieces. I pushed an apology to him over the weakening connection between us and asked him to please provide me with a dozen more. Sullenly, he agreed. I inspected his living space, and discovered it to be rather plain. I had an artifact cabinet moved from artifact storage to his room. He detected the change immediately and went running back to his room to meet his new furniture as the hauler ran to bring it to his quarters.

My shoulder sagged. Iton and Brok wouldn't be that easy to save. They were too far away.

BEER NOW!

I didn't want a beer, I didn't want alcohol to soften my mind. But I didn't need the voice in my head screaming for beer either.

I stormed into my eating area, opened a keg and stuck my head inside, taking two deep swallows before coming back up for air.

That... wasn't beer, I realized. My nose, mouth, throat and eyes burned. My head was cold. I had to close my eyes tightly to keep the liquid out of them. After a moment's panic, thinking the dwarves might have put lye in my drink storage, I recognized what I had just drunk. Grandpa used to make moonshine. I kept my eyes tightly closed and rubbed my face and head with my shirt. The cold of the evaporating alcohol went away after a few seconds.

I opened my eyes and looked at the top of the barrel. 'Sewer Brew'

I licked my lips. It was pretty good, actually.

Almost pure alcohol. In my hair. All the oils and conditioners gone. My 'do was certainly ruined at that point, I realized. I definitely need to teach a couple dwarves how to do cornrows. The way they do their hair, I bet some of them would actually like it.

Damn. I walked over to the food depot and checked very carefully, examining every meal for contents. I chose a meal of beer-roasted duck with prickle berries, and carried the plate over to the table. As I walked over to the table, I staggered a bit.

It dawned on me then. Oh, hell. How much did I drink? Two big gulps? That's about what, four shots of moonshine? Equivalent to nine or ten shots of vodka? On an empty stomach?

I considered making myself puke to purge the alcohol, but something inside me rejected that idea. I couldn't even make myself try, so I sat down and started eating the meal quickly, hoping it would help absorb the alcohol in my stomach.

I started to cry a little bit. Iton had been the dwarf that first struck the earth for me here. He had been the first to strike the earth in the fortress save well. I was watching both Iton and Brock lumbering weakly up the stairs next to the pump stack shaft, still miles below. I would watch him die, and then feel it as every dwarf in the fortress would suffer a happiness hit, not to mention me. Still, Iton was one of the strongest dwarves in the fortress, possibly stronger than Urist even, but with no military training. And dwarves gave one hundred percent of everything they could give until they died. He might make it, I lied to myself.

Iton and Brok would never give up, but they wouldn't survive the trip back to the fortress. I tried to resign myself to their death, but I couldn't even do that.

"Damnit!" I screamed at the top of my voice, slashing my arm across the table, the half-eaten meal splattering all over the place.

I staggered to my feet, and put my hands on the pendant, checking, hoping that I had missed something, any food, any drink in the old fortress. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I realized I had left nothing. There was nothing there. No way to save Iton and Brok. I had stripped the old fortress place bare of everything made by dwarves.

The alcohol I had drunk was hitting me harder, and I staggered sideways to the wall while trying to remain standing as the world started to spin. Falling to my knees, I crawled across the floor aimlessly, mind blank momentarily.

My head bumped against a barrel. I was next to the little depot where my personal food and drink were stored. I bumped against the barrel with my head. Then I bumped it again. No particular reason, I just thought it was funny to bump my head against the barrel. I laughed for a few seconds, then burped. The alcohol was taking over. At not much more than a hundred pounds and five-foot-three there wasn't a lot of me to absorb four shots of moonshine. One shot was enough to buzz me hard, two would make my vision swim. I had never tried three. I hoped four wouldn't kill me.

I fell on my side, then rolled to my back, casting my mind down to Iton and Brok, and sending a feeling of apology to them, for failing them. They did not seem angry, only resigned. And hungry. And thirsty. And tired.

I flopped my arms, smacking barrels and food containers randomly whole laughing out loud. I could save them with the food I have right here. But I get to watch them die instead. Some master I am, allowing my creations, my wards, my dwarves to die because of stupidity.

I designated food and drink depots and beds in tiny rooms, one every half mile, next to the shaft. I could at least prevent the problem from happening again. Hauler dwarves charged down the stairs carrying food, drink, and beds. They wouldn't make it in time to save Iton and Brok.

In my alcohol-stupor, I grabbed my pendant. I had specifically rejected the idea of trying this before, because I had no idea what it would do, but I no longer cared.

I concentrated on a meal container, and wished it back into my saved game fortress, hoping that my brain wouldn't explode, or I wouldn't convert the mass of the meal into energy, or whatever. I really didn't care at this point.

The food disappeared. I was still alive. My muddled thoughts insisted that I could feel the food in the saved game.

I would have jumped for joy if I hadn't been drooling drunk, laying on the stone floor on my back, with my left hand gripping the pendant and my right waving a chicken wing in victory.

"Yesh!" I muttered in satisfaction, brandishing my tasty chicken wing again. When did I find a chicken wing? I quickly sent a barrel of drink and more meal containers into the fortress save, and then brought them back out again, on the landing above Iton and Brok, miles below.

As the massive headache spiked through my skull, driving away consciousness, I felt my two dehydrated, starving miners register surprise before immediately beginning to eat and drink what I had sent them. They then collapsed into sleep on the stairwell.

After my dwarves were safe, I charged into the blackness to battle whatever was attacking my brain, armed with my trusty vorpal chickenwing. Nothing could defeat me now!