A human caravan was camping out in my fortress entrance and I was desperately enlarging the tombs so all of the dead dwarves could be buried. The question on whether I could manufacture coffins faster than the dwarves were dying was answered with the first ghosts appearing in front of the fortress gate. Bummer. I also noticed that the cistern was being haunted, as some dummy dwarf had managed to drown in it. Still, the dying was slowing down and the dead militiadwarves were replaced soon enough.
|Building more burial space...|
When summer came around, the human caravan was still there and the trading-post had somehow broken down. I quickly built an new one when a dwarven caravan came around. The traders did their thing and I bought a lot of alcohol for my populace to drown their sorrow on. The humans were still there with their pack-animals, not doing too much. I didn't mind, as I could use the extra swords. When my dumping-pit started fuming with miasma, I made the tragic decision to take off the roof above it, creating a hole in my central entrance to let the fumes out so dwarves would still be able to dump garbage in there. A lethal mistake for the outpost liaison, who decided to hang around on the spot that was being trenched away on top. I imagine that not much was left of the guy after falling for ten z-levels...
A small goblin attack massacred the humans and yaks encamped in the fortress entrance. A yak went on a rampage, attacking my dwarves but it was stopped when Mebzuth, my militia commander and most heroic combatant punched it in the snout with his iron-greave-clad fist. Yak-teeth flew everywhere and the beast collapsed.
|Red Y: Dead yak. Little white 2s: Teeth. Yep.|
|Sweet, sweet potable water rushing into the cistern.|
|"He doesn't really care about anything anymore." is code for "doesn't-give-a-fuck-badass".|