The game is using psychological warfare against me. I cannot stop thinking the migrants. I have watched an endless procession of miners, metalworkers and amazingly skilled fighters march out onto the surface, and then die. Just as I was thinking of using glass instead of wood or metal for a set of traps, a high master glassmaker walked onto the map in the middle of a swarm of heads and horse hair. One group of skilled archers held off the crowd for a while, but they ran out of bolts. A miner named Morul Windsilver hacked down wave after wave of undead until she was slowly ripped apart. Only when I saw that her anti-ghost slab had "devoted wife and mother" on it did I realize that her husband and child had been standing behind her. I can't watch this anymore.



We are at 127 dead. Thus, we probably have about 127 undead. Unfortunately, we also have 60-odd animalmen in tribes in the caverns. I've seen ant men, olm men, and batmen so far. Neither the surface nor the caverns holds anything but GCS venom darts or clouds of abdominal gloom. The patches of empty clay I cleared are bearing fruit, so I have a few logs (finally, beds!) and I should be able to get a nice crop of pig tails soon.



Finally, the magma-works are ready. My miner dug them a long time ago, but the sea is 113 z-levels below my mechanism stockpile. so It took months to set up the floodgate links, and the mason building the walls kept on blocking the construction site he was working on. The first batch of copper just emerged from our forges.