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[Flintus10]

lol Don't worry about it Flints personality is working fine it says he dislike anyone he considers fools. So I shall enjoy watching him beat the tar out of every dwarf who looks at him cock-eyed  Keep up the good writing

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

I'll take the Miller/engraver
Call him Aegar.
He was once, of course, a master Metalsmith before the he lost everything in a goblin raid
Now there seems to be little need for a dwarf with skills such as his, when most are struggling to survive. He quickly adapted to milling and engraving, and a nasty clout around the head from a mill wheel rendered him insensible for a few days and he forgot who he was. He eventually remembered his name.
However, he found this cultured few in need with a damaged wagon.
He quickly replaced the bearings and offered to tag along with them
He is somewhat introverted and obsessive, but a fairly friendly soul despite that.

[JacobGreyson]

Video Record of 4/18/1820
*Shot displays a badly burned Dwarf being dragged out of a hole by two humans*
Urist: Are you through?
Burned: We breached the magma flow.
Urist: Good. Get back to the base camp.
Human 1: That's it? Good job, pity about the legs?
Human 2: She's a dwarf. If it's not missing, it heals.
Cameradwarf: Can we move this forward? The heat is starting to affect the film.
*Urist enters the hole*
Urist: This is a thrill. We will be the first sentients to enter Sebshoskeshan for almost a thousand years. Now, it's just a matter of finding the library.
Cameradwarf: Armok, it's hot in here. I don't see any lava.
Urist: Magma.
Cameradwarf: What?
Urist: It's under ground. Therefore, magma. The crap up in the cold, that's lava.
Cameradwarf: Whatever. What about Aemar?
Urist: Hand me that... *Urist takes a wall-dropper* I'm thinking the living area should be right behind this door.
*Urist jackhammers the door down. On the other side is an imp with no eyes, half a jaw, and skin hanging off it.
Cameradwarf: What the F..!
*Urist buries the wall-dropper into the imp's chest and destroys it*
Urist: Right. Now, where is the Unknown Miner's office?

Finding further notation of Sebshoskeshan is becoming more and more difficult. The last few pages of the ledger were ruined by years in the damp bog. Luckily, since we do know that we are in the lost city, it was just a matter of finding the library which was rumored about for the ages. Considering that more and more, the argot Dwarfish of Sebshoskeshan seems to be a direct lexographic ascendant of our current tongue, which, admittedly, is roughly half Kadanian Human. Finding this library would probably fill in a lingual missing link between the old, runic languages of Aordheil and the oldest Mountainhomes, and the oldest extent speech of Disarr.
And, it would tell us more about Sebshoskeshan.
Finding the Unknown Miner's office was easy, but disappointing. In the intervening years, the rooms, situated right next to the magma pipe, had crumbled and been flooded with molten rock. Whatever insights might have remained in that place are now consigned to ash. Instead, an unlikely source of information came from what was once the main entry hall to the fort. The floor, still smooth under centuries of dust and rubble, had very subtle images and messages carved into it. They spoke of attacks by Elves and Keldor (whom we already know) sending the invaders to a bloody end. This opinion of elves seems to be mirrored with many of the engravings I've seen. Which just goes to further explain the elves' decline.
Rumor and lore tells that the Elves were once the pinacle of society, even surpassing Dwarves in their ability to create things of unsurpassed beauty and practical use. They were the exclusive holders of magic and magical forge, but something happened. At the height of their power, they were struck down. Why? We don't know. How? Likewise. But something broke in them. These people, who lived in that age, might know more about them than we do now.
Weeks passed before we started to find scraps from the library, (which to the shame of me I still haven't found), and I'm starting to get an idea what happened in the second year of the fortress. The record is, however, woefully incomplete.

[Keldor]

I see that Keldor is continuing his legacy of bringing bad luck down on his companions.  Now he brings elves...

[JacobGreyson]

I'd update, but I'm too damned sick. Maybe Monday.

[Strife26]

Lot's of sick people on the boards.   

I recomend a hot cup of tea.

[JacobGreyson]

More information has been unearthed about Sebshoskeshan, which casts further light upon my theories regarding the Elves of the bygone era.

--begins abruptly, carrying over from a missing earlier page to a total of twenty nine. While their numbers are a comfort, considering who followed them here, I think I should have paid more attention to Keldor and his dire predictions. Flint has expressed great rage and petulance at my decision that he remain here. I cannot afford to turn away any help at this point, even if they do seem to have some sort of curse following them.

2/21
I should have been more discerning with yesterday's entry. Today, I sent Keldor to remedy our waning lumber stockpiles, and fell the plentiful trees which stand in the marshy soil. While he was outside, he spotted a cadre of elves skulking through the woods toward our entrance. They had a vile look about them, and a sadistic manner, so Keldor did not introduce himself, rather, hiding prudently amongst the foliage. From within, Keldor's pet, a war dog, exited the fortress, and was shot and slain by the intruders. An alarm was sent by Strife, who absconded back into the fortress to find a weapon, but his 'militia' was ill-prepared and ill-equipped. The Elves poured into our entryway with murderous intent and wild screams. Luckily, as Baugur and I had planned, they fell to our traps, cut to ribbons by obsidion blades and a spare pick which nobody was using.
The battle was not so easy outside, though. Keldor, hearing the yelp of his companion's demise, rushed to the entrance, only to be beset by an Elf. Keldor lost himself into a rage, and attacked. The Elf did some pittance of harm to our woodsdwarf, but was cut down like so many trees for its trouble. With a sure death amongst the traps to one side and a berserking, axe-wielding dwarf on the other, the Elves decided to flee.
Unfortunately for one Elf, it had lost a foot in our traps, and was forced to crawl away from the slaughter of its fellows. Keldor, inconsolible in his rage, chased after this intruder, up the mountain which is our home, and finally slaying it. It was struck with such force that it flew almost forty yards through the air before it landed, as was chronicled by our Bowyer, who is something of an amature artist:

Understand that the blood at the north was where the Elf, and Keldor, were originally standing.

2/22
While Flint has finally buried the hatchet with Baugur, in light of Baugur's brilliance in keeping the Elves at bay, the former has turned a great amount of his wrath and rancor upon Keldor. He now names him a cursed one, a bearer of bad tidings. Our farmer jumped to Keldor's aid, and was punched in the nose for the trouble. Flint's issues with the members of this mountain seem to multiply ever few days. I fear he might become the most hated man in what reman's of our culture. And If I continue to associate with him... such hatred might find its way to my shoulders as well.
In more pleasant news, Strife spotted something most humorous in the hills today. While keeping watch for more Elves, he spotted one. A bow-elf, firing madly into the bones of a skeletal goat. Naturally, this did about as much as spitting on a magma fire. Finally expended of ammunition, the elf had to flee in terror before the shambling shape of the undead goat. Despite the nature of the last few days, all in the fortress were able to take great joy in the spectacle.
Also, I have finished a manifest of the newcomers from the east. How they found Mireflames I do not claim to know, but they are as most others here; smooth-cheeked, desparate, and run out of their homes by the Goblins. I am beginning to think that the Goblins are sparing my formerly-wretched kind, perhaps because they mistake us for Men, whom they have more reasonable relations with? Regardless, those that came to this place are as follows:
Bowyer/Amature Painter (M, and a cautious soul)
Clothier (F)
Wood Cutter (M)
Metalsmith (F)
Fisher/Soldier (F)
Mason/Engraver (M)
Animal Trainer (M)
Farmer/Thresher (F)
Craftsdwarf (F)
Brewer (F)
Butcher (F)
Peasant (M)

With this diverse group, I think we are finally safe from inbreeding and the birth of simpletons and lunatics. The Elves have enough of both for all the species of this world.

[Keldor]

Poor, poor Tangak (dwarven for Spot XD).  And here I thought that elves liked animals, yet they slaughtered Tangak without even a moment's hesitation.  I will have revenge!

[CobaltKobold]

Looks good, I like the style, but: Hoard is of treasure. Horde is of creatures.

That said, the furnace operator/herbalist likes getting useful things from the earth one way or another. Nebélinrus. (Pity we can't tweak prefs, or she'd like Cobaltite, Cinnabar...) Perhaps somewhat-crazed with the substance, and kobold bulbs, and will probably want to process them into the Gnomeblight, convinced it'll solve the problems one way or another...

If she's still alive, and that's feasible.

[JacobGreyson]

3/1
Large and unsettling news today. First, we were beset by a herd of undead goats, who stormed our doors as our workers tried to clear the corpses. Keldor of course was present, and dispatched them with his usual brutish resolve.

Flint is demanding that we run out the woodsdwarf for once again bringing calamity down on our door, but I refuse. Indeed, Keldor has not only proven himself extremely useful in this keep, but he has already acquitted himself better in battle then the entirety of Strife's 'militia'.


The disturbing news was of our craftsdwarf. He fell silent and queer in the middle of a conversation, and ran to a workshop, throwing the Dwarf making more obsidian swords out onto his ass. For hours, he ran to and fro, silent and bizarre between the stockpiles and the workshop, entertaining no attempts in finding what he wanted or what oddness afflicted him. Finally, after a bit of work, he emerged, holding above his head... this:


It is an animal trap which has a picture... of ITSELF... on it. As I squint in on it, I can see that the image of itself also has an image of itself on it. This thing is beyond what I have ever known to be capable of Dwarven craftsdwarfship. No, this reminds me more of what my grandfather told me of the Elvish works, before the Cataclysm. Was he wrong? Is there yet some magic in this world?

3/11
Little news since we began to clear the corpses from our doors. Baugur and Flint got together and sketched out a plan for the continued defense of the community, and a fairly cunning one. They decided that a motte be constructed around a large chunk of the valley, within which we can grow and harvest lumber and herbs, and leave one entrance from outside to the trade depot, and beyond, to our home. Indeed, we will construct a road leading to the south, which might be inconvenient, but what matter is that to us? I have the fate of an entire culture to think of, not some mewling merchant's sensibilities.

The only other news which came of this day was that of a marriage. It was a small thing, considering we have no priest, pontiff, or even a deacon to perform the marriage. No, it was more of the two of them kicking my door open at an ungodly hour in the morning and telling me that they were married.

Since I was having a pleasant dream of Egen and my old home, I threw my shoes and pants at them until they went away. I almost forgot to put them back on in the morning, before Aegar made a point that he could 'see my beard'. I made a point of cutting off his access to rum. Sure, not his fault, but damned if I'm going to admit it to him!

3/20
The skeletal eagle still stares at us as we move around the southern valley. Its very presence denies us the north and our ability to protect ourselves from invaders. We know that if we dare come close to it, it would dispatch us in a most heinous manner. Too long it's just perched there, freezing in the winter, thawing in the spring. No more.

Strife and his militia have gathered their weapons and went out to face it. He, of course, returned with a flurry of bluff and bravado, so I got the story from his 'sergeants'. They approached from the southwest, using the forest to hide them from its missing yet keen eyes. Then, they entered a clearing and began to fill the air with our home-forged iron bolts. They knocked off its wing, forcing it to land, where they simply shot it until it came apart into a pile of assorted bones.
.
Our now-superlatively-skilled bone-carver is giddy with anticipation for what he is going to make out of it. Considering some of his other work, with the exemplary totems made of Elf skulls, it should be pure quality.

[Strife26]

Dwarven Defense Force for the win!

Strife would like to request that the militia be refered to as the RDDF (Reserve Dwarven Defense Force).

[Keldor]

Good ol' recursive artifacts.  XD

Once his woodcutting skills are in less demand, Keldor wants to form the first axe-dwarf regiment.  Oh, and once there's some armor made to spar in.

[JacobGreyson]

--Date known for this entry


Again, a queer air descends on the community. Our clothier has gotten a look in his eye, one which we best describe as 'elflike'. All attempts at reason were rebuffed; she would have no part in them. So we tried to remove her bodily from the shop, but she struck us with a last until we gave her peace. Even Strife would not dare incroach. So, she set the shop to her liking, then bolted into our stores to gather up some Pigtail cloth we had made during a dirth in barrels for ale-production. She took this cloth, and bolted past us, back to the workshop. Since then, she has been singing. Her song unnerves those who attempt to eat nearby in the dining hall, but we can no more stop her than stop the queer mood which has taken her. I only hope that no others develop this aspect of the fey.

5/11
Summer has come at last, and we have completed the funnel-way to our trade depot. With this, there will be but one way to reach our community, one from which our enemies cannot stray. In its side, we decided it would be prudent to finally build a barracks for which Strife and his militia can train and sleep. While its floor has not been completed at the moment, it is already being dwelled in, and its firing range to the south has already seen use.

Now, we need only construct the murder holes above for our militia to stand and fire from as whatever attackers come up from the south. Traps will probably not be enough, but a hail of arrows will give attackers pause.

5/14

Another miraculous piece, but I feel the need to repeat myself regarding this matter:

This seems to lend weight to my suspicions. Now it is Dwarves who hold the secrets of Making. How? I do not know. But perhaps by exploring this place, this place which was once the Precursors, I can find a reason for this phenomenon.

[Strife26]

A sock with spikes and a name with 'strike' it MUST be a weapon! The barracks looks good too.

[JacobGreyson]

Artifaction is a very old phenomenon. Some would say it dates all the way back to the Cataclysm, but there is little conclusive evidence to support that belief. For example, if Ulogeshud is actually a dwarven community and not a holdout by the erudite goblin, then even during the Cataclysm, dwarves somehow wrested the ability to create these superlative works of worksdwarfship from its former masters, the Elves. Of course, since the Elves were hunted to annihilation by the Humans during the Eight War of Underdevelopment in 1621, we cannot know for certain why this occured.
With the debated exception of Ulogeshud, few of the oldest artefacts still remain. The oldest known is Strikewills, which has just been catagorically verified at an age of more than a millennia and a half. That it still sits safely in a museum at Deathfish shows just how important this endeavor is. The continued digs at Sebshoskeshan may uncover other notification of the artefacts which now lay in private collector's hands, or even unclassified in other stockpiles around the world.
The most baffling thing about Artefaction is that it is so very random. For example, in Nist Akath, there were dozens of confirmed artifacts during the days immediately before the diefication of Olon Datannazush as the God of the Cold. Meanwhile, New Nist Akath, built hundreds of miles to the north by Nist Akath's descendants, has never played host to even one single Artifact's creation. At first, it was believed that the inherent brutality, savagery, and general evil-ness of the places which the Artificiers key upon, or perhaps some convergence of those factors spurs them on. Now, I'm beginning to formulate a different hypothesis.
With Sebshoskeshan being built directly atop a Precursor site, it lends credence that there is some sort of 'osmosis' that occurs when a dwarven civilization settles near one. Some cases, like Nist Akath, must have been directly on Precursor land. Others like Deathfish and New Nist Akath are probably leagues from any Precursor sight. I have ordered a Spectralist and a Toxician to Sebshoskeshan, to see if there is some sort of invisible energy which seeps from the rocks or possibly an oddity in the air or water.
For example:

Newly surfacing information places that in the summer of Sebshoskeshan's second year, the founder too fell under a spell of artifaction. It is interesting to note that the only real record of this period was compiled many years after it had happened, by one of the children of the community. This reinforces my belief that the Unknown Miner was the originator of the written language, if only in Sebshoskeshan. The others, it seems, were either illiterate or otherwise only able to communicate in runes and iconographs, which is consistent with the time-period.
According to the admittedly belated report on the time period, the entire workings of the community shut down while the Unknown Miner created the artifact. It was a close thing, according to the record. The miner was screaming for bones by the end, but they had all been turned into bolts for use by the militia. So, they had to release a skeletal goat they had captured and shoot it to pieces so the miner would have something to use. Afterwords, it is noted, they kept bones in stockpile with their shells. Eventually, the Unknown Miner created:

It was not catalogued in any museum or private collector's house. Not surprising, considering anything comprised of that much gold would weigh as much as a locomotive could pull. It likely remains wherever it was when it was created, somewhere buried under milennia of rubble in this lost city.
In other news, with weather closing in on my party, I have ordered all of the crew to move into the long-uninhabited residential quarters. Until the weather breaks, we are going to remain inside the oldest mountainhome.