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Captain's Log. 16th of Timber.
Up until today it had been pretty slow. We've been busy constructing a new trade depot, this one from steel.
We've also been hard at building an inner wall to lend us greater protection from the green ones, with only a single gate for them to arrive by.
Instead of traps, we are now relying on our military (who seem to be better than traps), to guard the gate.
The wall is to be a thickness to allow squads to freely move across it, giving them a height advantage for ranged shots.
But, as I said, today broke the quiet.
It started with a thunderous roar of rage, coming from the workshops on the second level. I had not been aware of any dwarves becoming obsessively creative, so apparently this had been concealed from me.
The dwarf in question was the Baron's son, Etur. He'd snapped and gone on a killing spree.
At least he tried to. The first dwarf he came across was Gimli, one of our champions. He was shortly joined by one of our elite fortress guards.
For his efforts, Etur first lost his whole right leg, then had his chest caved in as he was sent flying across the corridor to hit the opposing wall, his corpse slumping to the ground amongst a small pile of cat bones.
The Baron seemed annoyed more than griefstricken by this turn of events, as did his wife. In fact, none of the Pantlashed family seemed overly concerned about this.
I can only chalk it up to them being cold hearted monsters.