1st Granite, 1057
It is with a heavy heart that I scribe this entry. Even as I write, the survivors are loading the remaining horses with what few goods we can scrounge -- and of course, plenty of drink for the weary days ahead. We are too few in number, and the lookout tower reports a vile force of darkness approaching. Again.
Id Gusilducim, metalsmith of legendary fame and appointed leader of our remote outpost, died this morning, leaving the reins of this hellhole in my trembling hands. His was only the last in a series of pointless deaths. Greed has led to our downfall. I can only hope the King will look upon us with mercy when -- if -- we return. The lads are willing to stay, and of course the nobles have yet to notice anything is amiss, but I look upon our meager forces and despair. It is over.
I myself am unsure if I will survive to make it back to the capital. The drink helps -- stout dwarven spirits will numb even the worst pain, aye! -- but my leg is probably beyond hope.
In the name of Armok, why?! Why do we rush to our deaths, witnessing one after the other of our fellows charge in to retrieve a fallen dwarfs gear, only to fall prey ourselves to that dancing, burning, primal beast of destruction? I curse you, fire! Your flickering beauty mesmerizes us, and we can't help but respond. Even I, the appointed scribe of our outpost, fell under your evil sway! When Id collapsed into a smoking heap, I thought nothing of abandoning my current task and charging forward to recover his well-crafted cheetah leather shoes. Even though they singed the very beard from my face, I clutched them desperately to my chest as I staggered across the river. And all around me my fellow dwarves did the same. It was only when the fire went out that I returned to my senses and realized that the dead now outnumbered the living. We now number six, out of an outpost of ninety-strong shortly before.
We are failed here. I will leave this behind in the Great Hall. Perhaps the King will wish to reclaim this outpost... but beware the flames! They will bewitch you, and all will burn!
ALL WILL BURN!
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Dwarves + Fire = Bad Things.
An excerpt from the last five minutes of my game log:
Oddom Mistemestil, Mason has bled to death.
Ushrir Bistokkadol, Miner has bled to death.
Limul Buketedem, Carpenter has bled to death.
'Pulter' Bersterus, Peasant has bled to death.
Id Izegrimtar, Carpenter has bled to death.
Id Gusilducim, Metalsmith has bled to death.
After fighting off two waves of sieges with one casualty each (stupid dwarves falling asleep while running for their lives, *grr*), via the use of my Magma Halls of DOOOOM!, I've now lost it all to the Burning.
My fault, I suppose. I let down the drawbridge too early, and the dwarves charged forward like the greedy idiots they are.
Note to self: let EVERYTHING cool off before lowering the bridge. Sigh.