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[Dante]

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=~= DIARY OF LOR KASBENONUL, 1 SLATE 352 =~=

In the moment that Goden, snoring, slashed out Sigun's throat, we knew as one dwarf that he was without question our leader again.



Sigun bled out messily. Tragedy has become almost a facet of day-to-day life here; I remember my first feeling upon seeing the body of our organiser was of anger that the floor was going to have to be cleaned again; it's hard enough getting blood out of plain old carpet, let alone sand.

The news that Goden is a sleep-disemboweller has, without any words being spoken, earned him a room to himself, far away from the main body of the fortress.

Sigun's blood-fuelled rampage, in which he kicked a puppy and killed whatsisname the liaison, seems to have played into Goden's hands. I can't help wondering how he orchestrated it. It's hard to believe, now, that it wasn't planned.

The number of dwarven heads lopped off around the place is getting excessive. Goden has ordered me to make wooden bins to keep things getting too messy.

Thirty wooden bins, to be exact.

I'm trying not to think about that too hard.

…
Goden just told me to start again, because I'd been building the bins “inside out”.



Ughblu fleh glh bruh grr frrr bl frg!gr!gr glwblwublwblwublwbl !!!!!.....

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[Iituem]

Goden just told me to start again, because I'd been building the bins “inside out”.



Ughblu fleh glh bruh grr frrr bl frg!gr!gr glwblwublwblwublwbl !!!!!.....

Have you by any chance read "The Rats in the Walls" by H.P. Lovecraft?  ;P

[Dante]

Haha. No, as far as I recall I've only read secondhand Lovecraft. Parodies and things.

In reality, I forgot to do anything about drinks and my entire fortress dehydrated while I was writing the next update. Then they started going mad. So, this seemed like a good way to represent it.

[Chaoseed]

The rats, the rats in the walls...(actually, as far as I can tell, that story doesn't have anything to do with this one except for a guy going insane...)

This is a rather bizarre story, but I'm fascinated by it.  Keep up the good work.

[Iituem]

The rats, the rats in the walls...(actually, as far as I can tell, that story doesn't have anything to do with this one except for a guy going insane...)

This is a rather bizarre story, but I'm fascinated by it.  Keep up the good work.

Oh yes, I was purely referencing the 'gllhh gggklll ggrrggh' thing.

[Dante]

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=~= DIARY OF EZUM, ARMOURER OF NICENESS, 13 Slate 352 =~=

People can be such meanies.

Vabok told Sibrek it was his fault Avuz died from thirst. Then Atir threatened to punch Onol when he wouldn't burn a piece of wood she wanted burnt. Or something. So Onol ratted her out to Goden, but Lor told him that wouldn't do any good, so Atir ended up punching Lor, and then Dobar pulled my hair, and it's all really upsetting!

I saw Vabok peeing in the salted meat yesterday.

Atir is walking around fuming.

I'm so unhappy, Onol called me ugly and kicked my pet pony, Stardancer. Stardancer ran away.

Sibrek says he's going to kill himself.

It's so sad, diary!

I tried to have a meeting with Goden, but I don't understand anything he says! He wouldn't even let me cry on his shoulder!

I don't know how much longer I can go on, diary.

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[Dante]

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=~= Journal Of Sibrek, Unskilled Labourer, 13 Slate 352 =~=

My days are spent pumping. I haven't been assigned to any actual work.

It is no surprise, then, that my mind is filled with cycles, inescapable loops, the pointless toil and the grind of living.

Me, Lor and Goden are the sole survivors of our original party.

This time two years ago I was fresh out of Gradient School and ready to hew precisely bevelled highway tunnels. Since then I have been, briefly, a speardwarf, a bricklayer, a butcher and a pump technician.

None of these jobs has given me much hope for my future employment prospects.

Also: Goden would be my sole reference.

I swear, someday I'll, I'll.

I'm ashamed to admit I had a fit of hysterics this morning and punched a cow in its udder. Immediately after I calmed down, I learned that Goden is now both tacitly and officially our leader again. Which kind of set me off.



Oh, it's... it's so depressing.

Since then, Ezum came and cried at me for a while. And now a bunch of other, fresh-faced tossers have just turned up over the horizon.

Oh gods, there's... there's children with them. What a sick place to bring a child to... I don't... I can't even imagine... I...

So, so depressing.

Oh. It's started to rain. Lovely. You know what? Let these be my final words.



I go now, to drift over the fields of lavender and bogwort and become one with the raindrops. Farewell.

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[Dante]

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=~= DIARY OF LOR KASBENONUL, 15 SLATE 352 =~=

I set down these words, as much for history as to convince myself of their truth.

A column of settlers marched in from the nearest town as evening fell yesterday. The party chief had barely opened his mouth to demand to speak to our leader when inoffensive little Ezum fell upon a young mill worker, apparently named Mafol, who had turned up to fill whatever demand for wheat threshing we might have.

She grabbed him by the throat and snapped his spine in one clean movement.
I saw this with my own eyes:
Her eyes were glowing fiercely black.

Roaring, she ripped patches of Mafol's skin away as I stood, paralysed with fear and nausea. She dragged the body over to a butcher's shop, and slammed it against the wall, watching it closely.


Then, seeming disappointed by whatever she sensed, she cast about like a molehound for a scent. There was another roar, as she leapt on a second hapless migrant, standing with the others, all round-eyed with fear and waiting to be allocated sleeping quarters.

The new victim was Zaneg, a maker of small copper mobiles, tin cutlery, and other metalcrafts. he had his senses together enough to scream and scream and scream.
Nobody moved. Darkness was flickering and burning around Ezum's eyes. She had not ceased roaring to draw breath for several minutes.
Now. I saw this happen, though I can scarcely write in upon my ledger, my hands are trembling so much:

She ripped out his skull and beat him to death with it.

I know, I know. It didn't seem physically possible.
But she did it anyway.
She stove in his chest, grabbed ribs and vertebrae, and started pulling.


Then she dragged away the pieces of bone, running with his blood, as his body lay twitching on the ground. She cleared a butcher's shop bench of organmeats with a sweep of her hand, and furiously set to work, hands blurring and eyebrows beetling together.
Not for a second did her fell roar let up.

We herded the new arrivals inside, closed the door and locked her out.
I don't think anyone slept that night.

This morning brought increased fear as the roaring stopped, and a migrant was prodded into peering out. He reported back Ezum curled up, covered in blood, sleeping, and a crown gleaming on the workbench.
I went out to look at it. It was truly magnificent. It had its name carved into it in tiny, meticulous handwriting. It was also made of Zaneg's jaw and ribs.


This was a crown fit for Goden.

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_{Author's note.
I had to savescum around here when Goden prematurely died of an infection just when I was about to need him; I didn't even realise he was hurt at the time. Hence the multiple murder victims. I swear there must be some non-depressing event somewhere in my fortress, but I can't find it.}

[Chaoseed]

She ripped out his skull and beat him to death with it.

That doesn't seem physically possible! :O

[Urist Imiknorris]

This is DF.

[Oglokoog]

Mother of F**k, this is insane...
I quite like it!

[Dante]

I've played quite far into the future, and things aren't in a hurry to improve. 

A dwarf's lot is not a happy one.

[Chaoseed]

I've played quite far into the future, and things aren't in a hurry to improve. 

A dwarf's lot is not a happy one.

Rocksfall, everyone dies?

[Dante]

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=~= DOBAR'S SON-OF-MAN'S LOG STONE, 17 Slate 352 =~=

Ezum, who I fell instantly in love with as I saw her covered head to toe in blood, appears to have no memory of the incidents. She has been placed under close watch for now.
Only she could possibly understand me.

The black light of fate here at the Spring Of Magic has been eclipsed by this morning's events:
Like the evening dross of a slacker god, Mafol, Ezum's first victim, has returned to us.

Somebody heard gurgling from the nearest trash pile. It was filled with bloodened turtle shells, and pipes awaiting assembly into screw pumps – waiting for ever, abandoned since Sibrek lost his mind.
Hecticity with the new arrivals and the general air of despondence in our encampment had combined to result in Mafol's body simply being dumped to one side.

The filth got shoved aside, and Mafol arose from the ruins, two days dead and apparently no worse the wear for his snapped spine. The impromptu trepanning, too, seems to have marred him only slightly.


Here is a song for you.

There was Armok in the pile of shell
There was blood on the pavers;
Adamantine will make us god:
That's how dwarves become tainted.

If you die when there's no one watching
And your socks lie dropped but not forgotten
If they kill you on their tea break
You're a martyred adamantine god.
Nothing's going to change the well; nothing's going to change.

There was Sigun and a happy spear
There were words in the engravings
We were making adamantine god
We were making a dwarf haven.

If you die when there's no one watching
And your corpse goes all purple-grey and rotten
If they kill you then go back to weaving
You're a martyred adamantine god.
Nothing's going to change the well; nothing's going to change.

(Nothing's going to change the well, nothing's going to change; nothing's going to change the well...)

It took two days for him to die
And be born again atop a series of pipes
Adamantine god have mercy on us
Adamantine god won't you grant us...?

(Nothing's going to change the well, nothing's going to change; nothing's going to change the well...)

If you die when there's no one watching
As you yelled for drink but were forgotten
If they kill you unintentionally
You're a martyred adamantine god.
Nothing's going to change the well;
Nothing's going to change... the well.

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[Urist Imiknorris]

ARISE, MY DWARF!