wew, when did I die?
I'm not sure, but here you are now:
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Journal of Thob, Ghostly Raccoon and Vengeful Spirit:More dwarves on the horizon, blotting out the sun with their hairy largeness:
Many, many more:
And so, more larder space for the fat ones:
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Perhaps I was hasty with my earlier actions regarding the creation of ghosts. I visited the great spider-temple today, and someone had put on display four rotten skeletons! It appears these sickening dwarves glorify the presence of their own dead, in the form of these strange, embalmed reliquaries.
I overheard that Fath, a new migrant, went insane on the second day of arrival. She threw herself to the bottom of the staircase, and began a furious construction in the forges. She later appeared with an interesting but mostly useless item: a skirt of plates made from pig iron.Anyways, she is now legendary at that sort of thing and the dwarves couldn't be happier.
Me? I could care less, racoons don't have the right shape for armor. Also, I'm dead.
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Lots of strange beasties in the caverns. They are all the foul creations of some strange warlock, whose name is whispered in the dark mists when no one is there to hear it.
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Some devil has left a great, stinking pile of dead centipedes and worms all over our trade depot, in some vile attempt to stifle our trade. Jokes on them, because everyone already hates us!
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A great, black wall has begun construction, circumulating around the surface village: a small collection of short, wooden buildings, including the old tavern, rudimentary smithing facilities, and a shrine to some frilly god.
I am unsure what the point of the wall is. No one lives thereanymore, except for the strange purple crabs that burrow in the lakeshore sand. They will nibble your toes if you stand in one spot for too long.
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I have successfully buried all the old memorial headstones in jewels. The dwarves will never think to look there, and anyone caught rooting around in the jewel vault is already suspect. And, after some subtle dream-manipulation, Ber (the expedition leader as of this spring) has banned the construction of new slabs. Bravo, Ber, Bravo!
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I made an important discovery today. I heard from a drunk tavern-dancer that the best use of magic, in his mind, was the practice of creating food out of magical dusts and essences. I was intrigued, as I had never heard of this before, and it sounded like nonsense.
I looked into it more, and it turns out it is a thing. I quickly got together the best alchemists in the fortress, of which there turned out to be exactly none. So, I would have to get my little paws dirty if I wanted this magic cheese. Oh, I wanted that cheese.
. . . what exactly is 'aether salt', mind you? I was stumped. I returned to the tavern to ask more of this drunkard, but he was no where to be found. Hmpf.
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Deep in the gabbro chambers of the magician's quarter, Morul the Novice Alchemist stands over the dead body of a small sparrow. In his hand, a log. Suddenly, and with great force, Morul throws the log at the sparrow. In a flash of bluegreen light, the two are evaporated, leaving only a small pile of sparkling dust. 
Thus, Aether Salt is created.======================================
I have created a lasting piece of history, so as to never be forgotten again.
In the dining room, there exists a large natural pillar of jet-black zircon. A gleaming shrine! No engraver has dared touch this pillar, and somehow disgrace it's beautiful figure, until now. Zasit, with his fear of disappointing superiors, was an easy target for ghostly manipulation.
My death, in all it's gory details, shall forever haunt any dwarf who chooses to eat in the dining hall. Maybe these fat ones will remember me now?
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The child went fey, and made this:
That child is a weird one, for sure. His father is a recruit in the militia, and seems proud of his kid, whatever strange and gruesome things he might make in his freetime.
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The traders arrived, and I noticed they had some of my brethern locked up in dirty cages. With little mind-magic, I convinced the broker to purchase every last one of them. Though the dwarves will no doubt enslave them in due time, that relative freedom is better than any cage.
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Winter is upon us, and so are some zombies.
A lot of them.
A lot a lot of them.
And some more shadow beasts. And more zombies. A few skeletons. A couple of wights, too.
The dwarves quickly close the silver bridge, impervious to the undead and all things immortal.
How boring. The zombies are too dumb to climb, for sure, but the shadow beasts might cause some damage.
I sneak over and flip the lever. The wights are the first to notice, and dash inside the skull barracks and engage with some of the recruits. The horde of shadow beasts slowly filter inside. Horror and pain for the fat ones!
They fix the 'lever error' pretty quickly, but a large number of shadow beasts still manage to infiltrate the mountain hall. Carnage erupts in the dining floor. Blood and gore and bits of beard are strewn about by the hulking terror-squad of shadow beasts.
In only a few minutes, the population is reduced to two - Zasit and the dwarf inexplicably named 'Eric'. They were subsequently eaten for dessert.
Note to self: do NOT let the shadow beasts in, even in jest. =======================================
Winter is upon us, and so are some zombies. A lot of them.
A strange thought pops into my head. "I shouldn't fuck around with any levers, who knows what might happen if you do!" Odd, but I am a fairly wise racoon, so it isn't too rare for some brilliant thought to just appear before me.
All the commotion seems to have triggered King Zultan, who withdraws secretively to a workshop. . .
She later emerges with some bone trinket engraved with a peaceful image of Ginkgo trees.
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Alright, this is getting ridiculous. . the shadow beasts just keep coming in greater and greater numbers. What kind of siege is this, anyways? I don't see any trebuchets.
Still, life goes on. Walls are engraved. Coffers are constructed. Battle axes are forged. Chickens are butchered. Corpses, forgotten.
Thob's journal ends here, with no explanation as to what happened after. Perhaps this story can be heard from another. . .
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OOC: There are like 300 shadow beasts dear god help turn down your invader caps before you start the game so more don't show up. this shit is bonkers. levers are near the dining room if the horde ever leaves. important levels are hotkeyed. . mostly.
save is here
Author
Topic: Spookyfort: Inheritance (Read 25968 times)