Journal of Andreus the Endless One (10th Aluonra Incarnation)1st Granite, 532So it has come to this.
A new year is upon us, and when finally confronted with the question of who, indeed, would dare to take the position of mayor, we were presented with one single, simple answer. No-one. No-one had the spine take the reigns of this monstrous place, so deeply loathed by all things that even Hell itself recoils from us. Between this blighted beach and blighted coast we stand, utterly accursed. Beneath us, hell. Above us, stars and gods, dying. Around us, dank water, goblins and ambulatory cattle corpses. Before us, Queen Led Uthmikmebzuth, the Genocidally Insane. After us, nothing.
My own functional immortality may be coming to an end, as all things converge to the vanishing point of oblivion.
Oh, to hell with it. I'll be mayor. It's not like there's anything I could possibly lose at this point.
2nd Granite, 532First things first: I have been contemplating my past lives - the ones that occured before I arrived in this accursed world - and I have not had much attention left for this place. It seems I must sift through the vast, untidy mess of notes the previous overseers left behind, and observe the unfinished plans and projects that they have littered this fortress with.
I have no idea where anything is. I have no idea what anything does. This is not merely a madhouse designed by a madman, but a madhouse designed by
many madmen, each with an intense hatred for the previous madman's unique flavour of madness. I have found evidence of what appears to be some effort to reproduce the Eternity Engine from Battlefailed (whose wheels, bizarrely, I have
heard turning in my dreams as of late) on a much larger scale.
Besides me, there are eighty dwarves clinging to life in Failcannon. Nine are children. This means there are seventy-two able-bodied dwarves in Failcannon. The militia numbers thirty dwarves across three squads. According to our most recent stocklists, food and drink do not seem to be a pressing concern, even though I can't seem to work out where either the farms or the breweries are. I don't understand what anything is, what anything does, or what the hell this even is:
I have no idea what to do. This is a new sensation.
What I'm going to do for now is let everything that doesn't require active planning (i.e. whatever monstrous catacomb was planned by the previous overseer) work itself out while I search the uncountable aeons of knowledge I have accumulated for an answer as to what the bleeding fuck I should do next.