Tunomungeg (Mortal Failure)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here's a "Let's Play" I did awhile back for the game Dwarf Fortress. Those of you who have read "Boatmurdered" will be familiar with the style. This is meant to be a comedy piece.

NOTE: Much of the humor in the piece comes from extreme use of profanity. If this offends you, don't read it. It isn't meant to offend, but I figured I would put this disclaimer just in case.

Submitted: November 07, 2011

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Submitted: November 07, 2011




Golgath sighed impatiently as the pompous-looking crooked-nosed dwarf was hurried into his office. He knew the type, had dealt with Dwarves like that since his earliest years. It was a page from court. Not just any though, one from his father's court. As if he didn't hate pages enough as it was, this one he had to listen to. Considering his father was also his king.

Not that you would be able to tell it looking around his office, which consisted mainly of a large table with two chairs, one on either side. It was entirely covered by various documents, held down by coins used as paperweights. It was the office of a merchantdwarf, and not an unsuccessful one. Golgath had made quite a living for himself after escaping from his father's court, who thankfully chose not to pursue him. Unless his brother died, Golgath wouldn't even be considered for the throne.

"I don't suppose you have a good reason for being here?"

The page straightened himself immediately at the sound of Golgath's voice, clearly taking his job far too seriously. When he spoke, it was with the confidence of a man who had ran this conversation in his head a million times before.

"My lord, I regret to bring you the news that your father has passed away not two nights ago."

Golgath blinked in response, before sinking back into his chair and letting out a sigh.


"I'm terribly sorry my lord, if it's any comfort-"

"No, no. I hated my father, may the bastard rot. 'Damn' as in my brother's king now, yes?"

Now it was the Page's turn to blink, dombfounded for a few moment before gathering his wits.

"Well.. Yes, my lord. He is."

"And I'll shave my own beard off if he hasn't sent you here with orders for me."

"Yes, yes sir he has. Your brother would like to honour you with starting a glorious fortress for the kingdom."

Golgath lay silent for a few moments, slowly cracking his thick fingers while never taking his eyes off of the page. He glanced about the rooms, some famous paintings of Dwarfkind hung on the walls, with a thick rug dominating most of the floor. The ceiling was plain, and the room lacked any other furniture aside from the tables and chairs. The dominant feature being the documents resting in between the two Dwarves.

"Tell me lad, do you see any maps scattered about?"

The Dwarf, who Golgath judged to be a good twenty-years his junior glanced around for a moment.


"Aye, no. And tell me, did you see any great mining operations on your way here?"


"And no soldiers training and keeping vigil?"

"Not other than the guard at your office."

"Just as I thought. So, if I'm not an architect, nor a miner, nor a soldier, what business do I have running a Damn fortress for his fucking majesty?"

"My lord, I only have your orders, and cannot speak for my master. He wanted me to inform you refusing meant death though, a very public one."

Golgath sighed at that, before clearing some of the paper off the table, allowing them to fall to the floor without a second though. He didn't care about them any more, he wasn't a merchant, he was a all-be-damned 
fortress builder. He resisted the urge to command the guard outside to murder this page, but kept himself in check. Instead he motioned the lad closer.

"Well, I assume you have some maps of what God-forsaken place I'm suppose to build this damn thing. Lay them out."

The page simply nodded and made his way over, the maps already in his hand. In another minute they were laid out in front of Golgath, who regarded them with growing anger. His brother was mad! Halfway across the entire continent!


"Tell me lad, are you showing me the Helmed Tooth mountains?"

"That would be them my lord."

"The very region that was burnt to the ground in it's entirety not too long ago?"

"The same."

"So no trees, or any plants really. Which also means no wildlife."

"I suppose so sire."

"And what wildlife was there now walks again in death?"

"So the rumours say my lord."

"Right. Thanks for clearing that up, just wanted to make sure my options here were either a slow death or a quick one. Well lad, it was good meeting you. Send my regards to son-of-a-bastard on the throne for me. You don't have the stones to place an axe in his head, so spitting on him will do. As for me, I have a death to prepare for, gotta pick some poor sods to die with me. Good luck to you, you'll probably be dead and on public display in a week with him."

Golgath clapped the lad on the back before whistling his way out the door. Thankfully he had a lot of money. He would be able to buy enough supplies and Dwarves to last years in that forsaken land. At least there was a small positive to the situation

"Oh, my lord, before you go. His majesty named your glorious fortress for you. 'Tunomungeg', I rather like it myself."

"Tunomungeg? Fuck me."

- Little did he know that was the exact plan the Gods had for him. Snakes, diseased livestock, diseased Dwarves, spoiled food, heat waves, blizzards, and one very bad case of the runs after another plagued his journey. For months this went on, fully documented in the group's logs. Many centuries later such logs would be discovered, and a particularly wicked Dwarf would create a game out of it which would haunt the children who played it for years.

It was called The Helmed Tooth Trail.

Tunomungeg, Mortalfailure, fit the place nicely.





Golgath frowned as his company finally reached the spot marked on his map. Tunomungeg, the glorious.. Well, for now it was just a mountain side. Bare of anything that looked as if it could sustain life. Giving his ten-thousandth curse of the expedition, he tucked the map away, fully intending on using it as kindling later.


"Alright, Odis, we're finally here, thank the gods you were able to navigate us through the trail leading to here, I thought we were going to die more than once."

Golgath examined the rock in front of him, trying to figure out where the best place to start digging would be. After a few seconds though, something began bugging him.. He realized Odis hadn't replied.


"He's dead sir."

Golgath turned around then, noticing Jesus- What the fuck kind of Dwarf would name their child Jesus?- sitting beside the deceased Dwarf, giving him a once-over.


"Indeed sir, smells something aweful, I'd say he died a couple days ago."

"A couple days ago..? Then who's been driving the wagons?"

"Noone, by the look of it."

"Huh. Well, get the wagons unloaded and start digging. Durzog, guard our backs, Jesus (Fucking stupid name), work on salvaging the wood from these wagons. There should be a river nearby to fish."

"Sure thing boss, gotta love spring, just the right season to start some good honest work. What should we do with Odis?" Durzog chimed in, quite unhelpfully, as optimistic as she had been the entire trip. Despite the mass die offs of Dwarves, hard labour, illness, and Goblin raids on the caravan.

"Well.. We don't exactly have any coffins or graves do we? Just push him over the side of the cliff, we don't need any Miasma choking us half to death."

"On it boss."

The damned Axe-Dwarve was 
whistling as she dragged Odis's body to the edge of the cliff. It was a bit unsettling. While she did so, the two miners they hired with the last of Golgath's money went to work efficiently digging into the mountain, working on a hallway and a few rooms.

For now, there wasn't much to do but lounge around the wagons until they had a few rooms to sit in. 

Utterly boring waste of time this is. Golgath thought, chewing on a mushroom idly. It would only be a few seconds before he regretted that thought.

"Oh shit!" 

The phrase barely had time to register before Jesus came running from the back of the wagons, completely ignoring the dumbfounded dwarves and charginging into the area that the miner's had cleared. They didn't have any time to ask questions though, as a fox came darting after him. Or rather, what was once a fox. The meat had long since rotted away, leaving nothing but bones held together by an unknown force. Still, for lacking any cort of muscle, the thing was quick.

Durzog reacted first, grabbing her axe and charging behind the thing. Moments later the miners came charging out as well, picks raised in a war stance. One of the miner's gave out a war cry- sending the fox scurrying in search of easier prey. Smart, for an undead.

Of course, Golgath would have reacted much the same way if three dwarf women came charging at him, weapons raised with murder in their eyes. It would almost be comical if it wasn't so utterly terrifying.

"Alright, excitement's over, everyone get back to work. Let's just hope Jesus (Son of a beardless Elf) hasn't pissed himself. If he has, well, then he can smell like piss and get these wagons ready!"

I should really start keeping an official log of this place, in case someone else has to take over Golgath though, as the Dwarves returned to their previous positions. 

But by my mother's beard I won't be the first unlucky sod to die here. "Tunomungeg", fucking hilarious brother.




Tunomungeg Captain's Log: Entry One.

This log is here in the case of my likely demise in this forsaken land. Either for my replacement, or the Dwarves who come later, picking it over for scraps. Right now, that's honestly all that there is here, scraps. Scraps and Dwarves. Even scraps of Dwarves. Poor Ushrir, the only planter we brought along with us must not have been as bright as we thought. She decided to try and go take a drink by the brook running nearby.

She obviously forgot what "Haunted" meant, and was chased down by both a skeletal fox, and a fucking
 zombiedeer. Poor woman didn't live long enough to reconsider the increadibly stupid action. She's laying by the brook now, her head split open.

She'll always be remembered. I'll be damned though if we're fetching her fucking body. She's not too far away from Odis really, both sitting there rotting in the sun. Still, we needed the brook for fish and water, so I sent our overly-positive axedwarf to go take care of the undead there.

Guess what? She was fucking glad to do it, whistling in all as she went down the mountain...

Durzog smiled as a soft breeze blew over her. The Bossman was an alright guy, didn't ask for too much. Go kill this, chase that. She even got to be outside in the fresh air for much of her day. Sure, there was the unpleasant smell of Odis and Ushrir occasionally blowing her way, but that was nothing. She'd smelled plenty of dead bodies before, all part of the territory.

She wistled another tune as she came to the brook, scouting for signs of the undead that had been troubling the group. As the leader of the militia, it was her job to guard their group against threats, which she did gladly. Of course, their "group" was only six dwarves right now, but it was still important. Still, she'd never exactly taken on undead..

This'll be fun!

That thought pretty much summed up every task she took on. Even pushing Odis over the cliff had it's rewards, like knowing she was the one who prevented Miasma from chocking the whole group up. She had all kinds of important duties here. Tunomumgeg was great!

It didn't take long before she spotted her prey. The deer was average enough, discounting the flayed open skin, missing hunks of flesh, and ungodly smell. At least it wasn't a 
giant zombie deer, that might have made it a bit more tricky.

It locked eyes with her for a moment, but instead of running away like the average deer, it charged without a sound, murder on its rotten brain. The dried blood was still on its hooves from Ushrir's murder. Durzog waited patiently for the deer to come to her, hefting her axe and mentally preparing herself.

And then it was upon her.

It tried to gore her with its antlers first, but Durzog dodged to its left, preparing her axe for a swing, when she gracelessly lost her footing. Surprised, she barely managed to keep from falling on her axe as she fell to the ground. She frantically rolled to the side as the deer's hooves crashed down where her skull was seconds ago.

She hefted her axe once more as the deer readied itself for another strike, but she was the faster one. Her axe bit deep into its stomach, ripping through rotten intestine and muscle. The deer let out a shriek of what was probably pain- if undead could feel pain, and promptly ran away. Too fast for Durzog to follow.

Instead, she wiped the sweat from her brow and let out a laugh. She didn't even get 
scratched by the thing. She was about ready to report the news to the Bossman, but she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.

A skeletal fox.

More importantly, the one that helped kill Ushrir. 

However, having witness the previous battle, as soon as Durzog noticed the thing it ran off. Eliciting another laugh from the Axedwarf.

"Come back any time, cowards!"

The Dwarf does good work, that's for sure. We need her, there's no other fighters amoung us. It's too bad we've lost out farmer, now that the area's clear. However, they're common enough, if we live long enough to get some immigrants she'll be replaced. Whatever her name was.

As far as the Fortress goes, we're making decent progress. We have several workshops up, as well as a couple stockpiles. The barracks just opened up as well, sure will feel good sleeping in a bed. Hopefully we'll have the trade post up in a couple weeks, I've been doing my part by making stonecrafts for when the Fall caravan comes. The thing had better have some decent goods.

With the wood from the wagons used up on the beds though, Jesus (Yes, a damn stupid name, I know) is out of work. I think I'm going to have him patrol with Durzog. He may prove to be a good distraction while she works on the actual killing. I might also have him scour the area for trees, on the slim chance that some have regrown since the whole "Everything burned to the fucking ground" incident a couple of years back. 

We've pretty much got no food production, nothing planted, and a water source that's infested by undead.

I really need a drink. I'm sure when whoever finds this does, they'll agree.




Captain's Log: One year mark.

Ah, I love the smell of... Fuck it, nothing smells good here. We have five dead dwarves already to those undead outside. Our cook is only half competent, so everything and everybody stinks of raw meat. None of us fucking bathe, and the undead outside don't exactly smell like roses either!

Since I'd like to keep this log at least a little bit orderly, I've arranged my entries by season. Note: If any of you lazy sods working for me come across this and I'm not dead yet, 
don't fuck around with the entries' order! If I read back through this and everything's not exactly as I had it, I swear to Armok I will strangle you with my bare fucking hands!


Summer Log: Year One.

Entry 1: 
A wonderful fucking start to the season. Our best damn miner fell into a depression for Armok knows why. Was it his rotting companions a ways down the cliff? Zombies stalking about waiting to kill any dwarf unlucky enough to be chased down? The unbelievable workload? The lack of hardly any food source?

Probably the fact that we won't be able to brew a good drink until at least next year. Hell, that depresses

At any rate, he's thrown himself off of the cliff. We're really going to need to clean up those bodies, they have a sick fucking paper-doll chain going down there now. I'll place an order for some coffins.

Entry 2: We're expecting to get a supply caravan this Fall, so I ordered a trade depot to be set up. Shouldn't take too long for the lazy bastards I'm watching over to complete. More importantly though, I ordered we get a production of some basic furniture up. How the fuck am I supposed to keep a proper log with no chairs or tables? Ridiculous. We should have our mason hammered after we can afford to replace him.

Entry 3: I never thought I'd be so happy to see a bunch of unemployed near-useless dwarves in my life. Our numbers here really needed a boost with all the dead bodies rotting at the bottom of the cliff. Still, I wasn't going to risk my neck for them. A small detail I've left out, they decided to enter the area right where a skeletal cougar was prowling about.

Jesus and I immediately started placing bets on who was going to die first. Personally I favoured the idiot trying to wrestle the thing while it chased the fisherdwarf. Jesus preferred the fisherdwarf.

However, it wasn't long before Durzog whizzed past us, axe in hand, only stopping long enough to place a bet on nobody dying before dashing towards the cougar. Jesus and I both knew we'd just lost a week's worth of food rations to the woman. 

The poor undead didn't last half a minute.



Autumn Log: Year One.

Entry 1: 
Durzog ensured the immigrants made it here safely, and I ensured they only get enough time off to eat and sleep, lazy bastards. Most were useless to me. A glass maker, a clothier and a fucking fish dissector. How the fuck can one dissect fish for a living?

Fuck that. I drafted the last two and made the first replace our suicidal miner.

Entry 2: Note for future reference: Clothiers make poor soldiers. A lesson learned the hard way, as our immigrant friend decided to try and wrestle a skeletal deer.

Guess who won?

Entry 3: We were invaded. Four or five of the undead bastards ambushed our fishers, and the miners as they were taking a break and getting a drink by the brook nearby. Durzog came charging in with her last recruit, but by then Dwarves were all over the place getting chased. One fisher was mobbed half a mile away, and our newest miner, another fucking immigrant was pummeled in the brook. Durzog managed to save the other two, luckily. However, her last recruit was knocked out trying to save the dead fisherman. It's not looking good for him.

Tunomungeg is sounding pretty fucking fitting right now.

Entry 4: The caravan we were expecting finally arrived. Thank Armok I was working my fingers to the bone on trade goods, because these guys came loaded.

I was glad to shove a few dozen stone novelty items for some things of real value, like food and an extra pick. Have fun with your stone-fucking-scepters.




Winter Log: Year One.

Entry 1: 
Okay. It's a real stressful job trying to keep these bunch of sods alive. A dwarf can make a mistake or two every now and then. We were finally getting some decent bedrooms dug out deeper into the mountains, when the miner called it quits because of wet stone. I figured since we tried to dig to the floor below us and hit water, that it was just something flowing under us. So I told him to quit his bitching and finish up the bedrooms.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

Water naturally started flooding the entire area. While other Dwarves were doing important things like trying to set up doors and beds. Blood fucking everywhere as Dwarves were slammed into walls and tossed about like dolls. Luckily we didn't lose anyone, but we had to wall off that section of the fortress. We don't have any fucking wood, so those beds of priceless. However, I'm thinking into trying to use this misfortune to our advantage. I'll need to consult Jesus later and draw up some plans. 

Turns out the odd-named bastard is pretty bright when he isn't running at the first sign of danger. He'd make a good second in command.

Entry 2: The recruit has been unconscious for months now, for some reason the fact that we have no fucking doctor here was overlooked. Armok was smiling upon us this season though, for that's exactly what we got, a doctor. The dwarf calls himself Raziel. Oddly he kept looking at the walls anxiously as I led him on a tour around the fortress, not that there's much to see yet.

I'll need to remember to build him a sick-ward once we dig a bit deeper into the mountain. 

If you'll remember right, we have a cook here who can hardly cook. Well as it turns out, now the bastard wants to play doctor too. I was just going to tell him "Fuck no," outright, but Raziel says he could use an assistant.

I feel like this Wyrzak is going to cause far more harm than good, but we'll see.



End of Year One Log.

As you can see, it's been an eventful fucking first year. However, it's the first of spring and a new year to be fucked up. At least it's starting out good though. Jesus and Ustuth, or surviving miner have announced they're getting married. Sneaky devil was courting while I was working my fingers to the bone on these damn crafts. Bastard.

Still, I'm happy for him, and the wedding announcement seems to have put everyone in good spirits, which means more work is being done, which means we may just live another fucking year.

I'd say I need a drink, but we're out as far as I know.

I'm really fucking loving Tunomungeg.




((Here follows a quick section of only screenshots that were meant to be in the above section))


First up is the poor suicidal miner approaching her doom.


The clothier was actually a pretty good fighter, despite the early demise.


The (still) flooding bedroom area.




"Golgath! Jesus! Thank Armok you two are here! Th-th-there's zombies down by the brook!" 

Golgath and Jesus looked to the man, and then each other, before casually side-stepping out of the fortress's opening. The dwarf who was practically tripping over himself in fear and bewilderment was one of their newer migrants. He obviously had to be new, anyone who had lived in Tunomungeg for any notable amount of time would have gotten used to corpses walking about. 

"Find your stones and calm down already, it's being taken care of. I'd suggest you move a little to the right though." 

The other dwarf blinked, before glancing about in either direction. 

"Taken care of.. wait, to the right?" 

At Golgath's nod the dwarf seemed to become even more confused. Jesus and Golgath glanced to each other, before the former let out a sigh. 

"I suppose he'll know in a moment eh, Golgath?" 

"Not even, I'd say." 

It was then that a thundering could be heard inside of the fortress, rapidly getting closer. The bewildered dwarf stared dumbfounded in the direction of the noise. When he noticed the charging, cheery Durzog flying towards him, it was too late. The dwarf was knocked clear back to the edge of the cliff, Durzog paying him no heed. 

"The snow is melting, the birds are chirping, the vultures are hovering, and zombies are being put down- back down, at any rate. Spring is in the air Golgath." 

The Bossman just smirked as he made his way back into the fortress. He still had a lot of fucking stone to carve. 


Spring Log: Year Two 

Entry One: 
Thirty new migrants, about 20 dwarves and all their fucking pets. What a mess. I now have three new fucking cheesemakers, because obviously Tunomungeg has a lot of Damn cows milling about. Hope they like catching fish, because we need to replace all of the dead fisherdwarves around this place. Easily the highest casualty job in the fortress. 

I hope you like dodging zombies guys, because in Tunomungeg it's the national sport. 

On top of them, I have a dissector, two animal trainers, and a tanner. Only the latter is of any use, and as I've noted previously, we don't have any fucking cows in this place. We must be a practical joke around the local farmers or something. 

"Hey, Bob, you know what place has a lot of pasture? Tunomungeg! Yes, it's on a mountain. Yes, everything was burnt down recently. Yeah, there's supposedly zombies milling about everywhere, but I'm telling you. This place is golden for a new farm, would I ever lie to you?" 

bam they're off to fucking Tunomungeg and have to become a fisher, or Zombie wrestler, or some other profession that'll get them killed quickly. 

By the way, we have no money here, so they'll be doing it for free. 


Log 2: 
Project "Let's get all the fucking water out of the bedrooms" has failed miserably. You'd think with three channels out of the place we'd be able to drain it faster than it enters, but you'd be as wrong as we are. Seems we're dealing with some super-river here that we've hit. Now we face an entirely different problem, we have a lot of water pouring out of this place. It'd take a long time to reach us, but it's starting to really flood the mountainside. On the bright side, that means no more zombies. I suppose if there's fish in this water we could just make a merry peaceful existence fishing. Nevermind we've just destroyed the entire local ecosystem for who knows how far? It'd mean no more useless immigrants, no annoying Goblins that I've heard just love to pick at these new mountain-homes. 

Of course, that means no traders either, and if there's no fish, then we starve. 

Maybe I should look to plugging these holes.

Log 3: 
Fuck Tunomungeg. I'm writing this log not half a day after my last. Remember when I said it'd take a long time to flood the whole damn mountain? 

I might have been just a bit wrong. I'll include some sketches of what our third drain has done in half a day. 

(Taken roughly 15-seconds real-time after the third channel was completed) 







As you can see, the land is just starting to recover from the great fire that happened here a few years ago.So what do we do? Destroy it all over again with a flood of course. Irony, sometimes it isn't funny. On the bright side, there's a surplus of zombie-corpses on the western side of the mountain. I just hope there aren't any hairless Elves around that catch wind of this. I feel they won't be too happy. 


Fuck Tunomungeg.


"Are you sure this is the right place? I don't like it, the devastation that took place not too long ago. And the Dwarves picked 

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