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Journal of Ber Gisekmuthkat, Expedition Leader.  Autumn, 250
King Atir Ingizmuzish has commissioned myself and six other dwarves to establish a logging outpost in the Murk of Furs, a small island that is attached to the mainland by a tiny isthmus.  Truth be told, I don't know why the king insists on establishing outposts this close to the frontier, especially with the troubles of late.  We have safer and equally plentiful forests farther from the border.  However it is not my place to question the king's will.  We have been preparing for the journey for a month at a nearby fortress and we plan to depart in the morning.  The equatorial autumn is quite mild here, and we shouldn't encounter any adverse weather.  And hopefully we will avoid the worst of the mosquitoes as well.

I only hope there aren't any setbacks.

There is a map folded inside the journal.

There are seven of us in this expedition.  Myself, Ber Gisekmuthkat, the leader of this expedition, it's chief administrator, as well as it's doctor.  Vutok Ostarsodel, our axedwarf and manager, a dwarf with whom I cannot see eye to eye.  Our mining crew consists of Bomrek Ibelsodel, a friend of mine, and his comrade Likot Stigazlibash.  Farming duty is split between Aban Athelgerig and Feb Mozirlogem.  Our lone craftsman is named Stukos Gingbomrek and he is charge of carpentry, stone crafting, and mechanics.

We carry with us numerous animals for food, as well good stocks of lumber so we may establish a foot hold before the lumberjacks arrive next autumn.  Stukos insisted on bringing an anvil with us, despite the fact that none of us our trained blacksmiths.  He dismisses my skepticism and claims he is a quicker learner.


Journal of Ber Gisekmuthkat, Expedition Leader.  Autumn 250
Our initial plan was to cross the narrow channel between the northern section of the island and the mainland.  However it seems the king’s royal cartographers were wrong about the channel.  The waterway is far rougher than we had anticipated and is far too rocky for us to cross with barges.  Because of this, we must now travel south along the coast until we reach the isthmus to the island.  I expect us to reach the site before winter's end.  Thankfully, snow shouldn't be an issue this far south.


Journal of Ber Gisekmuthkat, Expedition Leader.  Late Autumn 250
For the past week, I've been feeling somewhat ill.  It started with fatigue and a poor appetite, but within days it had worsened considerably.  I have trouble walking due to weakness in my legs and I often feel lightheaded.  While the others haven't said anything, I know they are worried; I am the only doctor in the expedition as well as the chief administrator.  If I die, the outpost will likely fail.

I do not want to worry them, but I fear something other than a physical malady is wrong with me.  When I sleep at night, I hear whispers.  They've been growing louder each night and I've grown more and more restless.

When it's quiet, I can almost hear them when I'm awake.  This is very worrisome, but I cannot tell the others.


Journal of Ber Gisekmuthkat, Expedition Leader.  Late Autumn 250
We've crossed the isthmus today.

The others are scared, especially Bomrek.  I cannot walk any longer and have trouble staying conscious for more than a few hours.  I'm constantly tired and still feel little desire to eat.

I fear this journey will be my death.


Journal of Vutok Ostarsodel, Administrator, Early Winter
Ber would not wake this morning.  Although she is breathing, all attempts at waking her have failed.  I fear whatever she has contracted will soon be the death of her.  With her incapacitated, I am responsible for the expedition and it's health.  So I've ordered her wrapped in cloth and carried on the back of the wagon.  Despite the fear that her sickness is contagious, she is simply too useful to discard.  While I loathe that woman's guts, the expedition comes first.  Bomrek would not allow us to do so anyways; he is the only one who actually calls that woman "friend".

Feb is worried as, by his admission, he is quick to take ill.  I tell him not to worry, but he's maintained a good distance between himself and the wagon all day.  While I agree, Ber is too useful to simply discard.  Stukos volunteered to feed her; he claims he hasn't been sick in ten years.  I pray to Kirar that he speaks the truth.


Journal of Vutok Ostarsodel, Administrator, Mid Winter
Our journey across this large island continues.  Ber has not woken from her coma in a month.  Our initial worries that her illness was contagious seem unfounded, as even Feb remains healthy.  Whatever Ber is ill from, it appears it won't affect us.

Still, I'm not lifting her quarantine.  Only Stukos is to come into contact with her.  This has worked well so far and I see no reason for it to change.  Bomrek is angry with me, but I care not. 


Journal of Stukos Gingbomrek, Craftsdwarf, Mid Winter
I have not told Vutok or the others, but in her sleep, Ber speaks in a tongue that I have never heard.  Even though I don't understand them, I cannot help but fear the word's meaning.  Occasionally however, her whispered chants are in Dwarven. 

I wrote down her last chant.

Those who are trapped beyond the veil,
Writhing in darkness as they endlessly wail,
Their eyes are black, their skin is pale,
And when they come, our walls shall fail.

Screaming from the void, I hear their names,
They want our bodies, they have made their claims,
Soon they shall come, our souls they shall maim,
Our only salvation is to die in the flames.

Something awful has possessed Ber.  I cannot tell Vutok.


Journal of Vutok Ostarsodel, Administrator, Late Winter
Still Ber has not woken up.  Stukos says nothing is wrong aside from the coma, but I see him and Bomrek whispering amongst themselves when they think me preoccupied.  I know better, something is up.  Tonight I shall go and see Ber myself to out find what secrets they've conspire to keep from me.


Journal of Bomrek Ibelsodel, Miner, Late Winter
I believe this expedition is cursed.

Ber finally awoke from her coma today.  But I fear whatever demons she has been wrestling have claimed her soul.  She is not the same dwarf I once knew.

It began when Vutok broke his own quarantine and checked on Ber himself.  He heard the strange whispers that Stukos told me about and came to the conclusion that she was possessed by something foul.  Vutok was furious at us for keeping this secret and he commanded us to throw Ber from the wagon and leave it for the wildlife to eat.  Obviously we told him he to find a fine lute and play it softly.

He didn’t like that.

Next thing we know, Vutok is threatening us with his axe.  He demands we follow his orders or he’ll lop off our heads.  Likot is quick to come to our side and soon he and I are gripping our picks and ready to come to blows with Vutok.

The next thing we know, Ber is standing atop the wagon.  Her eyes are narrowed and an expression of utter rage is upon her face.  Vutok pales as he sees her; I feel my blood run cold.  I’ve never known Ber to make a face like that.

She stared daggers into the three of us, “What do you think you three are doing?"  Her voice wasn't the same.  It sounded cold, distant, and cruel.  "Put down your weapons."

“Ber, y’er awake!”  Stukos had a wide smile on his face, but his expression faded once he saw Ber’s face.  “Lass… what happened to ye?”

“Have we reached the site yet?”  She paid no mind to Stukos.

“T-two days,” Vutok stuttered fearfully, “We’ll reach the site in two days.”
“Good.”  And that was it.  Ber sat in the back of the wagon and proceeded to eat a rather large share of the rations.  No one said anything.

But I knew.  I knew that whatever demons Ber had been wrestling with had won.  She was not the same dwarf I had known.

Kirar, give me strength.

Voidspawn? Is that the surprise or a dwarven civilisation?

You decide

Succession list corrected.

Deathgate has concluded and is no longer active.

Also, booyah for breaking the character limit.

So, I see we have some military dorfs... Let's get em all in one squad, for teh lolz, lol. I bet I will die first.

If precedent is anything to go on, the military is doomed.

Can we be dorfed without running a year?

If yes, I'll take the milita commander.

Name: Derm
Job Name: Military Overseer. Title: 'Fearbreak(er?)'
Profession: Axedwarf

Of course!  The more dorfs, the better.

Just remember, all dorfs are playing the Body Surf game.  We're basically ghosts that keep snatching bodies for fun and profit.

Epilogue
The goblin scribbled on the intricate stone floor with a piece of charcoal in his hand.  The poor wretch had since forgotten how long he’d inhabited in these ruins.  Months, years, decades perhaps; time wasn’t something that he could comprehend anymore.  He spent his waking moments either searching the halls for rats to eat or drawing the images that plagued his mind.  His clothes amounted to a tattered loincloth that was covered in filth and stained from years of wear.  He was scrawny, emaciated, and his left arm had been hewn off just below the shoulder.  It had healed into a hideous looking mass of scar tissue.  The bones in his right foot had broken during his attach on the fortress and without treatment, had healed incorrectly, living him with a limp.  Blisters covered his feet and knees.

Every day the goblin would scribble images onto the walls and floors of the fallen fortress.  He would create drawings of entire worlds collapsing into themselves, of black voids filled with eyes and tongues, and of eldritch symbols that would drive even the most wizened scholar insane.  However, his most intricate work was found in the dining hall.

Thirty three short, stocky figures danced around a writhing mass of tendrils, teeth, and eyes.  Each of the figures had horns, or hooves, or claws.  All of them were trapped inside a thick sphere that was surrounded by blackness.  A single line ran above the figures to a drawing of Deathgate’s entrance and just beneath said entrance was a representation of Upper Deathgate.  The entire image resembled a cross section of the earth.  Upon the surface were bodies of goblins and men.

“Aaaaa…” his voice was raspy and weak.

For a moment, the goblin stopped his work, stood up, and stared at the drawings that dominated the once glorious dining hall.  Slowly the goblin glanced around the room at broken, blood stained furniture and the rotted bones of his brethren.  The goblin seemed terrified for a moment before the glimmer of sanity vanished, replaced by the madness as it returned.

Not long after the dwarves sealed themselves away from the world, a goblin invasion finally managed to breach the fortress, only to become trapped inside.  Unable to escape, they died one by one of starvation, injury, and finally cannibalism.  Anyone that managed to enter the accursed fortress never left it.  Eventually, no sane individual dared to approach the fortress.  Even the demons themselves feared the final stronghold of the dwarves.  For an untold time, the only inhabitant of the fortress was the single, sickly goblin and the rats he hunted.

But the goblin knew.  He knew he was not alone.  Beneath his feet, behind walls of stone and oceans of magma, the dwarves still lived; lived in the embrace of their hungry god.

Once again, the goblin scribbled on the intricate stonework with a piece of charcoal in his hand…

Someone needs to update the TvTropes page one last time.

Done, but I invite anyone to add further edits.