Datanerith Entry 6: Passing by Poultry

In the latest migrant wave, I had a bunch of useless dwarves. Those who didn't have any skills to offer me got drafted. Sibrek Kibishudar, for example, was apparently a highly accomplished Milker where he came from. And that's fine. Back in his homeland, maybe that meant he was hot shit. But here in Datanerith, it meant he was drafted into the militia, had a crossbow slapped into his hand... and then started practicing his wrestling moves. I'm still figuring out the militia.

So, Sibrek.

Sibrek was practicing his wrestling with the other dwarves, right out there in the middle of the hallway (because for some reason they refuse to use the barracks which is RIGHT THERE) and he's honestly doing pretty badly. But that's ok, because he's new. Everyone starts somewhere. This is why I like to start training my militia early. As long as you're building up a decent martial skill (even, uh, wrestling), it doesn't really matter how bad you are to start. Right?

Let me explain these reports that I expertly stitched together in MS Paint.

During his sparring session, Sibrek (who is referred to both as "The Milker" and "The Recruit," because even the game is having a hard time calling him a military recruit with a straight face), accidentally ran into a stray hen. The hen, angry, pecked at his foot. Sibrek, agile as ever, jumped out of the way, tripped, and tore apart the nervous tissue around his spine. He paralyzed himself, and then suffocated to death before Rakust, the fort's doctor, even knew there was a problem.

You understand? Sibrek was so fucking clumsy, he tripped over a chicken and broke his back and fucking died.

"The Hall of Those Who Died Like a Bitch" grew a little more that day.

At least the fort's hunger problem is becoming less and less of a meaningful issue.