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[Strife26]

They'll have to rediscover the hatch then, won't they?

Just a fedora and some nazis and you have a proper Indiesque adventure!

[JacobGreyson]

1/1
As what passes for winter here passes into what passes for spring, I find myself returning to myself. I cannot express exactly what came over me. One moment, I was in the stocks, counting and drinking (and thus recounting) our supply of alcohol. Then, some sort of spirit overtook me. I remember little of the next few days, but now there sits a hatch cover of unspeakable worth in our stockpiles.
Worse, I feel... compelled. There is something incomplete. The animal trap and the masterful sock are elements of something that has yet to be made whole. I cannot explain myself, but I find my attention dragged ever to the east. Every time I take my pick with me to the east, I feel oddly desireous [sp] to hack down the walls and head further and further, under the soil. Much as I tell myself it would be a fool's errand, that compulsion remains.
And I fear it might not be a compulsion. While digging our reservoirs, I knew the stones I was digging even before my pick brought them to light. It almost seems that I know this place. I know, folly. No dwarven pick has ever struck the earth in this hell hole... But I cannot shake this fell mood. What if there's really something out there? What if I'm the one who's supposed to find it?

1/11
Finally, something to take our minds off the funk that suffused the place since my... illness:


Both children born only days apart. This means that there could be a continued existence for our people here. And both born to 'bald faced' mothers. I wonder if, by all the women in this fort being former nuns (who were cloistered by their 'disformity') or other such striken, we might find the generation after ours so affected? Could this be ushering in a new face for the dwarven race? We have had no contact with any other civilizations of our species since we reached Mireflames, so I hesitate to make assumptions.
Still, a boy and a girl. Like Urist and Dhunia, they will symbolize the rebirth of our folk, a new generation. And given how frequently each of their parents... rendezvous... I can only expect many more in the future. It wouldn't be so unpleasant if one of them weren't in charge of creating our food and drink, or if that one had enough control to not be doing so when the rendezvous began.
Also, today Strife got into a drunken brawl with Flint over some silly thing. Strife is sleeping off his injuries in the barracks, but should be in fighting form soon enough.

3/5

Invaders in the halls!
A sneak thief somehow bypassed all of our traps, and slunk passed the barracks with nary a raised eyebrow. It was found outside the residences. It was a small and scaly thing, with a long face and long fingers. It held a large knife. Keldor was once again close at hand, and he struck the unusual creature to the ground, where it was savaged and killed by a nearby dog. This will not do. I implimented a task to our animal handler to train all dogs of sufficient age to work as guards, and possibly will chain them near the entrances to guard our interests. With our new entrance to the stockpile bereft of such protections, there would be nothing stopping another like this scaly beast from attempting theft, or murder.

[Strife26]

Did I tantrum or was it sparring related?

[Flintus10]

My guy just kicks every dwarve's arse in this fortress 

[Keldor]

Bah!  I leave the door open for a moment te let the dog out (again) and some durned tunnel rat be sneakin' past te try te steal anythin' it can be layin' its hands on!  I wish that mutt'd be makin' up its mind whether it be wantin' in or out!

[Fortis]

Would I be able to claim a dwarf, if there are any available?

[JacobGreyson]

Any in that list (including now three Legendary Artificiers) are open to anybody.

--Quite a tale on how we found these notes: See the footnote.
as we expected. Instead, with the cracking thaw of the other ponds in valley, we heard the squeek of an approaching axle wheel. Strife and his militia took up a position atop the murder gallery, and were astonished to see the large frames of Men approaching from the south road.

They were as shocked as we, they claimed, to find a tunnel and road leading to this place. They claimed that they had suffered tragedy in the lands to the west, and had fled across the mountain. They were nomads, living with their caravan, and I could feel their pain. A people without a home, coming upon a home without a people. We offered them a trade in food and other pieces they found pleasant; blanket and other such things, in exchange for their alcohol and gaudy baubles. They will serve us well when melted down. More important, they told us that they would tell other Men of our home, and that we can expect others to come for trade.

8/7
Our cunning plan to siphon the thawing water underground into reservoirs has come to completion.

Now, we shall have a source of water come the winter (all ten months of it). Additionally, I have noticed that water acts... oddly in the area. When the freeze began to fall again (as it does not long into what should be the summer here), I discovered that throwing a bucket's worth of water, particularly back into the lakes, creates a wall of ice so large it could swallow a Dwarf whole, and solid besides. It makes no sense.... unless it has something to do with this queer land. The soil still calls me. This time, to the north. I feel parched every time I face the north wall. I feel that there is water there. I must find it.
8/9


Love seems to be in the air in Mireflames. Not surprising. These Nuns were deprived of all male contact from those eunichs in the priesthood, and reviled by the thick-beards from the cities. No doubt many of them doffed their oaths to Umril and Otilrisen as quickly as they doffed their habits (as well as many other articles of clothing). We might not be the only ones left after the assaults by the savage goblin, but here we are more accepted than anywhere else in this cold world. Were it not for my constant responsibility to this community, I might have been tempted to join the nuns and refugees in their debauchery. Ha, debauchery. How I cling to the old ways. Flint does too. While he did marr the occasion by throwing a rotting char at the master clothier, he did honor his ancestors by proper marriage.


The Events of The Day Past
I awoke as I often did in Sebshoskeshan, in relative dark. While having electric lights helped a lot, there was a pressure which would not be shaken. I feared that some of the humans who had joined me in this endeavor would crack first, but I found them surprisingly resilient. The magma, which has now sealed us inside the mountain, is still contained in the western rooms, and comes no closer. Still, it is an odd existence, living under ground as my ancestors did.
I and two others went down into the waterworks, and we found something we had overlooked. Wedged into the waterwheels (rather than the skeletal giant olm, which we had to remove with riflefire) was a human figure, but wearing clothes the likes of which I have never seen. It is no military suit I have seen in my wide travels, and uses an odd cloth. Its fibers are stern and allow no penetration, but are so light that I can lift it in my fingers. The corpse was dusty bones, and it had an incredibly ornate sword peircing its side.

This blade... it is an Artifact. An honest to the gods, Artifact. No doubt, it was made by one of the former denizens of Sebshoskeshan. It's blade was so wickedly sharp that it cut phyllite like talc, and it was able to peirce the bizarre armor, which even an experimental bullet could not. While speaking with my counterparts, we were beset by other undead, and we lacked the numbers to put them down with our rifles. We fled into the control room, where I found several more of the Unknown Miner's notes. I am confused as to why they are spread about the entire structure, rather than gathered in the yet mythic library. Several hours later, the sounds of riflefire told us to risk an escape, and we retreated back into safer ground as our friends blasted the undead.
I could swear, though, that before the undead clambered up from the channels, I beheld a flash of irridescent light and a sound quite unlike what I have heard before. We managed to salvage the strange corpse, but it leaves us with more questions than answers. Who was this person? Where did he get his armor? What was the strange device which lay along his arms? We have nothing now but time to find out.

[Fortis]

I'll take the farmer/thresher.

Name:Fortis
A hard working dwarf who wanted nothing more to tend the soil, both above and below ground. He enjoyed the simple pleasure growing things, as well as an occasional stout pint of Dwarven ale. However, he occasionally can have a short fuse, and has been known to answer percieved insults with a left hook.

When the cataclysm came, he was far afield, and distant from the mountain homes. Fleeing into the wilds, he wandered for a short time before meeting Urist's group.

[Strife26]

Death to the undead!

I'm not sure what is more compelling to read, the fortress or the tale of the researchers.

[Boksi]

I think the weave between the two is the most fascinating of them all.

[JacobGreyson]

--Some time in autumn

Damn their eyes!! The savage Goblin have found us. As it stands, there are but a scant dozen of them, clustered near the road and far to the northwest, but they swept down with a fury befitting the maddened elves. I ordered Strife's militia to the Murder Gallery, but only he showed himself. The others frittered away their time in the dining hall or slept in the barracks, one wall away. Still, when the southern parcel of goblins came up the hall, they found themselves advancing under withering fire. And then came Baugur's traps. Those who braved the hail of steel bolts found themselves Cuisinardted by a flurry of obsidian blades.

I have also had Baugur include a line of cage traps at the killing ground's onset. Perhaps if we can capture some of these maniacs, we can discern why they abandoned reason and friendship to service of the demons.

--The Unknown miner seems to have stopped caring about marking days at this point, and never seems to mark date henceforth
XI)
As the fall descends into the bitter, snapping cold of winter, an unexpected sound from the south. Strife made haste to the Murder Gallery, but saw a sight we never thought we would again. Dwarves, full bearded and stunted of stature. They came with a wagon of goods. It was precious little, but it was trade! I ordered some of the goods we salvaged from the Goblin moved to the trade depot.
Unfortunately, this... liason... was as bigoted as any dwarf I have ever known. At first, he did not even recognize us for his dwarfish kin. He was adamant that a smooth-cheek'd woman is a human woman. Well, after Flint beat the stuffing out of him for claiming his wife was a Human, I set him straight on a number of things. Unfortunately, this had the regrettable side effect of giving them license to gouge us like the eyes of an attacking carp. Understandable in a way. We have what they want, they have what we need. They dictate the price, and since we are malformed abominations in their eyes, they do not dictate kindly.
We traded for some bars of metal which I nor my counterpart have located in the fort, some spirits and wine, some raw food for cooking, and some cheese. It has been a long time since I have been able to enjoy a fine cheese. Sadly, I was only able to have a sliver before the chef took it away and cooked it into some hundred or so dishes. It will last, but it will lack the delicate aroma and texture of cheese off the wheel. Still, I was surprisingly glad to see the end of those traders. They set me on edge.

X)
A strange pall has descended over the town. Two were stricken by the fey and fought with each other over the magma forge. One was a dwarf who arrived with the second party in, one who speaks seldom and with great difficulty (I believe him either simple or else long estranged from his people), the other is Flint's dear wife. Each gathered materials at once and tried to use the forge simultaneosly, causing many fights between them. It was not until Flint could restrain and drag his wife away from the forges that the peasant could swiftly finish his own work.

When he finished and the pall ended for him, he looked at his creation as though into the eyes of the basilisk, and threw it to the ground, terrified. Without saying any legible word, he fled to his room and hid. Meanwhile, Flint's wife regathered her materials and forged a masterful steel sword. She has named it the Memories of Heat. Fitting, considering its providence. After this creation, Flint arranged a party in the dining room to celebrate. The other artificier would not attend. I must see to him. He seemed strange from the day he arrived. Letting others speak for him, flinching at pain that others would shrug off. Do we have a noble in our midst?
Also: I am particularly proud to announce that my next plan for the defence of Mireflames has come to completion. By tapping the Precursor Pipe again, I have conspired with Baugur to fill the ditch surrounding our valley with lava. That should stymie attempts to simply hop over it.

[Fortis]

In one of the quarters, a scrap of parchment has withstood the ravages of time, sheltered within a stone cabinet drawer. Part of the parchment is torn, but some still has a scratchy by legible handwriting on it.

...-dare they!? They call my friends human? I was ready to take my shovel to his skull, diplomacy be damned. I almost got him too, but the more level headed dwarves set upon me. Two of my fellow dwarves had to restrain me, and a third wrenched the shovel from my hands.

Flint also heard the liaison’s comments. I suppose he had more cause to be angry than I did, he’s married to one of the women the liaison so casually insulted. While the three were busy keeping me still, Flint slipped by and tackled the liaison to the ground. He wasted no time and began smashing his fists into that bigot’s face. Despite the brawls we get in I cheered him on. I wanted that cur to get his just desserts as much as he did. Unfortunately, the caravan’s guards managed to drag Flint off before he could finish him off. Still, he managed to break the liaison’s nose as well as bloodying his face, and I think I heard the crack of a rib.

They were still willing to trade after that incident, but they named steep prices. I’m surprised that Urist agreed to them. Still, we got some fresh food and wine. While taking these to the stockpile, I managed to swipe two small pieces of the fresh cheese from the kitchen while the chef was getting some ingredients. I had one. Let me tell you, it was a pleasure to taste proper cheese again. The other I took to Flint. He’s a pain, but I owed him for taking it to the Liaison. There will be plenty of time to beat the bones out of each other later.

Now, I hope I can convince the chef not to cook all the seeds, I hope I can plant some new….The parchment is too damaged to read any further

[JacobGreyson]

At this point, the story of Sebshoskeshan somewhat diverges, as now there are two literary sources in the mire. One is the Unknown Miner's argot Vaali, the other a form of Mok which my friend, an archaeolinguist, found strangely easy to read. Doubly strange, because Mok was assumed not to have coagulated into a written language until five hundred years later.

--From the journal of Fortis
Another summer is come, and the ice cracks near my farm. It's not the only cracking, though. Another screaming infant now shares the halls. If nothing else, they will breed in enough numbers to sustain this place. But that's none of my concern anymore. I have two fields to tend. One above, one below. Let the leader deal with the wretches.

--From the ledger of the Unknown Miner

Calamity!
We were assaulted again, by a solid dozen of the green skinned fiend. The liason to the humans was cursed of the ill luck to be outside the magma moat when they attacked, and despite her desparate attempts to flee, and Strife trying to take up opposite her of the moat, we could not reach her in time. She now bakes in the unearthly heat.
Worse, they made a concerted push upon the settlement. With no way to call in the denizens, our masteful bone-carver was headed out to pilfer some bones when the Goblins set upon her. It was a fair wind which allowed a War Dog to come to his side, and free the whittler, if at a cost of the dog's leg. Strife ran out of bolts in short order, but the others in the militia cut the attack in rage, before dragging the whittler to safety in the barracks, where she now rests and we see to her wounds.


--Fortis
I begin to question that glorified shovelbearer's sanity. At first, I thought it was merely a reaction to her incident, where her body was suffused with that strange artificing phenomenon. Then, the miner struck out to the north again, claiming that there was water in the mountain. Flint, like an obedient puppy, followed after her, and they dug down. Unfortunately, what they found, was this.

The waters in the upper waterway teem with skeletons and olmmen, notably a combination of the two. The lower waterway is foul and disgusting, stinking of rotting flesh, and we could see zombies walking its floor. This is a joke. What water could we get from this place? Wait. This gives me a notion. If only I could remember what he showed me in Ikfjerjig...

--The Unknown Miner
Through a feat of engineering, we have stoppered up the river running to the north.

This had the lovely side effect of draining the western river , and splitting the undead resistence east and west. Strife and his militia had a day of shooting just to clear them from the hole. Unfortuntely, there still remain many undead in this place, and the water is not clean. Oddly, it was Fortis who approached me with a solution. Using Pigtail cloth and screw pumps, he devised a way that the force of the pumps would pass the water through the cloth, leaving the poisons and dirt behind. A brilliant piece of engineering, but not what I expected of a farmer. I'll have to keep my eye on him.

--The Unknown Miner
Again the spirit descends on this place, claiming now a blacksmith. I wonder aloud what is the matter with this place. True, my inklings have found a source of water, and with proper engineering, it will be clean, but this town claims so many... I wonder if there is, as the other, more supersitious of my kinsdwarf claim, some sort of overspirit, watching all who would live in this valley. Or, and I speak of this to none, perhaps some aspect of the Precursors remains? The aspect which overtakes us is more elvish than my pride enjoys to relate. I don't like thinking about it.
But the blacksmith worked on that creation for eight days and nights, without rest for food or water or sleep. When he left, he had create this:

The engraving of the elf disturbs me. We have never known peace or freedom from the predations of the Elves. It is not a word in their lexicon anymore. Is this some irony? Some joke? I shall have to ask him. Although, he did get the then-king's likeness with uncanny precision. Bah, this is too much to think on. I will tell Flint to deal with the caravan from our Dwarfish neighbors this year. It's not like they can gouge us any more than they did last year.

[Strife26]

Could I request Strife's stats right now? How many armies can he stop single-handedly?

[JacobGreyson]

None. He's a Master Crossbowdwarf and nothing else. He doesn't have any skill in wrestling or shields. When I have a bit more population, I'll double the militia size, but until then, you're shooting things.