@Ryukan: I'm okay with that, adds an interesting twist. Part of the lore is that people get 'dwarfed' after they arrive on site at the Nightmare fort; it's something about the area Other sets aside that draws lost dwarven souls back from the void. But the idea that Ryukan used a memory spell to retain events is neat, so keep it.
Whaz goin on with the airship? Is it from the OBA?
**Lore Post**
6th of Slate, year 252, from the desk of Ablel Basenrakust, broker of TombstakesWith these new migrants, work is proceeding at a much better pace. I've included a picture of our current efforts to wrest control of the brook running through the area.
With this floodgate in place, Tombstakes will have direct control over both brook access and water flow. Access is important, as the fortress will likely reside atop the brook indefinitely. After the zombies were able to scale our walls, we're taking no chances.
Unlike earlier water-related projects, no dwarves have been lost or injured, though the river burst into blood when one miner hewed through a section of loose rock and scree in the river bed. Debate's still out on exactly how THAT happened; I just hope the poor lass doesn't get infected by anything.
We're also taking a keen eye on giving every dwarf in Tombstakes a decent place to live in. A few have grumbled about the size of our accommodations, but the reality is that our masons and laborers have only so much time to build. Larger rooms can come in time, but only if we're alive to build them.
It does strike me as a little odd that no one has attempted to build bedrooms underground. The idea has come up in meetings, but discussion on it has always been short lived or forgotten, like some great fatigue is weighing down on our minds. Even now, a strange... aversion to the idea grips me.
Mayhaps this is supernatural, in which case I suspect it is tied to the strange identities some citizens are clinging to. Needs further investigation when we're safer.
Our masons work night and day to produce the building material needed to feed our pace of construction. Everyone now finds it common place to be able to secure mine-able stone and ore using the passageway secured by the brilliant and passed-on Rovod, but I still remember the meager days and trials from before. How quickly habits change!
30th of Felsite, year 252, from the desk of Ablel Basenrakust, broker of TombstakesGreat dwarven thinkers have often remarked that nothing is eternal, not even the stone we rest upon. The same could be said for our safety, I'd wager.
The bells are rung as before, calling people in as a strange, scuttling were-creature with glowing eyes breaks over the horizon once again.
But this time, the transformed creature is allured not by dwarven flesh or animal, but by the stone walls of our pump stations. And by allured, I mean FUCKING TRANSFIXED BY. I can't remember the last time a frightful creature of the night found something as normal as squared stone blocks so interesting.
The creature sat there, gazing longingly (one can only assume, anyways) at our stone work... then transformed as the moon passed out of sight into a scrawny, naked human. Several dwarves chased after it, determined to pummel the stupid thing senseless for scaring the shit out of us, but the human scuttled away, happy to have witnessed
WALL at least once in it's life.
Of greater threat to us, in a sense, is our new construction of the walls Tombstakes will soon fill. It's apparent to everyone that our current size cannot remain, and that eventual expansion will be key to securing our lives and our fortunes.
As we build and expand, travelers are coming to enjoy a respite at our.... unfortunately-named tavern, as well as paying respects at the Earthen Temple. One human female named Artha - a lasher and mercenary by her looks - is especially notable, and has taken a habit to walking along our south-eastern wall at night, patrolling and looking for... something, it would seem. As long as it poses us no risk, I see no reason to interrupt Artha.
Our main concern is that by building the news walls, we're making fresh means of climbing ingress to the parkour zombies the necromancers brought before. We've decided to leave one path transversible, but setup three different doors to secure it for the time being.
6thth of Malachite, year 252, from the desk of Ablel Basenrakust, broker of TombstakesIt has come to my attention that more dwarves have taken these... strange names. Even stranger is the return of KlayKree, who was mauled by that were-zebra not a year before! I sat this... being for a long time in a corner of the fortress, and grilled him as best I could. He remembers his assumed name (obviously), and fragments of his life and death before, but still nothing of his life before he took on his new name - and, according to him, everything else. The dwarves taking these names, it seems, assume not just a name, but everything not tied to the body they inhabit - past memories, experiences, lives exist as some sort of hazy recollection or dream, though some of the natural skills of their host remain. My heart is chilled, journal; it seems that the dwarves struck this way cease to be. Is their soul lost? Pushed aside? Were they these new... people... all along? Are we being consumed one by one? Klaykree and the others say they harbor no ill will, but I lie awake at night in my small but snug bedroom, staring at the freshly laid walls, tracing the brick work and brooding on these questions. I know a handful of others do, as well.
When asked how he came back, KlayKree said that he simply had the strength of will to do so. He seemed... confused on this point, but it seems these dwarven beings can only enter our world by willpower alone.
23rd of Limestone, year 252, from the desk of Ablel Basenrakust, broker of TombstakesMore migrants have traveled the path to Tombstakes, eager to start a new life!
It's perfect for our situation. Ten dwarves is not a great number, compared to previous bands of migrants. While our drink situation is not great - we spent much of the early part of year 252 drinking water - we can easily keep ten more fed and housed...
One moment. People are shouting downstairs about something coming towards the fortress, ringing bells and screaming for the rest of the migrants to run inside. I-
When will it FUCKING END! Just ONE piece of good news without something AWFUL happening to us! FUCKING...
Okay. I'm better now. Deep breaths.
Rukku has already reached our walls. Migrants are still coming in; a brave dwarf from our crossbow recruits runs out to try and delay her advance, but without proper gear or armor, he is little more than an interruption for the angry, territory-maddened giantess. He and one of our migrants are flattened instantly as she rampages outside.
A human voice, a female voice, calls out moments later, a ringing cry of challenge. It's the lasher - Artha! Has she been waiting here this whole time to fight Rukku?
If that's true, it's a fucking godsend. We've been setting up smithies and furnaces, but we still lack proper military gear. Artha's our only hope.
And she's a fucking phenomenon! A few errant swings by the giantess catch her off guard, but Artha lacks significant damage. Rukku, on the other hand, suffers multiple breaks and chips to her bones as Artha's whip licks and lashes out, cutting through hair and flesh and sending arcs of giant blood around the brook. Her weakened state is obvious, as a dwarf runs by and effortlessly bats aside a fumbling strike from the giant as he escapes into the fort.
Seeing this, many dwarves pile out of the gates screaming defiance, determined to help Artha with their fists, teeth and feet. Their help comes at the perfect time; Artha suffers her first major would as the giantess flails about and catches her scalp between her jaws. With a sickening, ripping sound, Rukku pulls away most of Artha's hair, leaving a blood-soaked forehead behind, but as she does so, she's driven to her knees by frustrated, furious dwarves pummeling her with little more than their determination to live.
In horrible pain, Artha still manages to stand upright, and with Rukku's prone form in her sights, she shoots out one last pin-point strike of her whip.
The giantess, Rukku, is dead. Artha stands victorious, if wounded.
Dozens of dwarves drag her away, oblivious to her wounds, and press drinks and praise upon her. Artha can do little more than bandage her head and sit down as back-slaps and mugs press upon her.
I can only hope she decides to stick around. That's one human I wouldn't mind keeping close by.
20th of Sandstone, year 252, from the desk of Ablel Basenrakust, broker of TombstakesRyukan has also come back, like KlayKree, taking the form of one our untrained thanes - and a brilliant lass, at that. Perhaps influenced by the fight of Artha and the giantess, she seems rather subdued this time, asking for a small space to read, meditate and practice on her own. I see little reason to say no, and Staling concurs; we need more able-bodied fighters. Ryukan now refers to herself as something called a 'Jedi.' More of these strange words. I can only hope this one means "Faithful and loving protector of the fortress, and master at keeping every citizen's blood inside their bodies."
A feeling excitement fills the air, if tempered with sense. Word from below has it that the mineral of the gods, the ur-metal, the perfect material has been found: adamantine. It is far below, and perhaps in the future we'll be able to succeed where so many others have failed. But for now, we have other concerns. We lack the work force to make good use of the metal anyways.
Perhaps when Tombstakes stands in it's completed glory, we will revisit this wonder. For now though, other tasks beckon.
I am taking notes of our current situation as Autumn begins to wane before Winter's advance. Tombstakes fares well, though on shakey ground. Production of military goods has begin under Qvatch's tools, though the quantity of wood we burn to do so is staggering. Before we can enter into a greater industrial output, we need to secure a source of mechnical power and access to the heat of magma for our forges, but both of these things are preceded in importance by the need to secure Tombstakes long-term against invaders and finish the monumental task of constructing the fortress proper, complete with towers, gate house and spires, not to mention better living space, areas for workshops and activity areas.
But Tombstakes lives. Tombstakes endures. And if we endure long enough, perhaps we can make something great from this place.
