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See that? Macaque blood. Got it all over my hands-its stinks. Pesky little things actually tried to attack the fort! I assumed they were trying to steal something, but we made sure they never got close to our socks. The “battle” ended quickly, and I particularly appreciated the thunking sound my pick made when it shattered their fragile little skulls. I can smell their meat being cooked right now in our kitchens; I wish I had some Dwarf syrup to drench it in, but that’s a rare commodity, which might not be available for some time. I was told their were Unicorns not to far from our fort, but I didnt believe it. In fact, ive never seen a Unicorn in my life. Their probably Elven myths, used to scare children about wandering into the woods. Anyway, I must get back to digging. But theres something else…

(The script appears hesitant, and shaky)

A fire imp actually decided to help us. It flicked its wrists and a shot a fireball that blew one the Macaques to the land of nineteen. Then it leaped back into its firey home, and..I haven’t told anyone this-but I could swear it smiled at me. Leered right into my soul. Even help from Demons kin is often a harbinger of worse evils. Despite the heat from the calderas, I was still chilled to the bone. May Limul warden of the living stone, protect us from evil, Amen.

Dwarmin-Mine Foreman
“Another day, another problem” Dwarmin thought. The Queens escort had demanded Tiger-eyes, to be delivered forthwith to him under pain of death or imprisonment. He had been trying to manage this pointless dig for rare gems, which had been mined out years ago, otherwise one his Dwarves would get the shackled to the wall, or crippled by a pitiless hammer- maybe even him this time, who knew? So they had to dig faster and faster, much too fast. Maybe it was some lazy mason, or a traffic jam of the various livestock that crowded the halls, or maybe even Armok himself decided to have some fun at our expense. Either way, a crucial support wasn’t put up in time. He looked back, time slowing down, his skilled eyes tracing the rock fracture creeping up the wall. He saw all his mates, unaware that their lives were about to be cut short. He had time to think what he would say to their widows and orphaned children-how he would try to explain. They would thank him for his kind words-but their eyes-their accusing eyes-would blame him. He would pass them in the halls, and he would see them having convicted him with their silence. He would see their eyes in his dreams. That was assuming he wasn’t killed now. He gave himself about a 1 in 2 chance of getting out, and smiled. There was a crash of stone and dust, and he heard Armok laughing at him as he blacked out.

He spent the next 3 months in the barracks, receiving water and food, idly twirling a small crystal glass toy given to him by one of his miner’s children. He still hobbled out to attend the funerals despite the pain. The day he felt himself ready to walk, Dwarmin decided to leave. Damn this cursed place, with its haunted eyes and bad memories. He had enough of it all. He offered up his resignation to the local mayor, who promptly refused to lose such a valuable worker as he. So he broke the escorts nose with one punch and was promptly exiled, spared from execution by no more than the fact the Hammerer was taking a break. He soon found himself in a shoddy caravan of like-minded individuals, Dwarves desperate enough to take him along, but hopefully not desperate enough to slit his throat and sell his meager belonging for booze. Another day, another problem…

My profession is foreman-leader, or at least co leader of the miners. Dont be afraid to draft me up in a pinch if we have to defend the fort, just make sure i have leather armor at least.

[ February 24, 2008: Message edited by: Dwarmin ]

-space for at least 200 Dwarves to live.
-2 Crystal glass eyes, for the nobles quarters
-2 giant tusks-made from real ivory!
-10 ballistas that shoot out of the mouth
-A massive trunk to dump refuse out of