This is the Journal of Draignean Firstmoss, it is bound between two heavy sheets of slate. The front piece of slate is engraved with the legend ‘Draignean’s Big Book of’. The words are so large that no other words can be engraved on the front of the book, leaving the title perpetually incomplete.
Dwarf Date, 203.01-1. My greatness has finally been recognized officially! The former overseer –yes journal, former overseer- Mr. Frog called me into his office to announce that he had chosen me as his successor! My obvious qualities of bravery, intelle
kct, and eloquence cannot be compared to that of other dwarves…
It would appear my mother misunderestimated my abilities gravely when she said I would make a good cheese maker. HEAR THAT MOMMY! YOU WERE WRONG!
Dwarf Date, 203.01-3 I awoke this morning to the unusual affair of having an emu in my bed. I realize that the sheer power of my animal magnetism has a powerful draw on such creatures, but I was forced to tell her that I wasn’t interested, right now I was looking for someone with a little less neck.
To prevent further embarrassing incidents I’ve made my first official mandate by ordering every animal into a field or into a cage. I will miss my crowd of emu fan-girls, but those beaks are rather a bit hard.
Dwarf Date 203.01-6 Though I mourn Catten’s lost foot I do not regret the decision to begin my career on a high note by embarking in a foolish mission to drive the thrice damned child of a fallen hero off of a high ledge where it isn’t hurting anyone. It was exactly the kind of thing that will make my name immortal.
In secret I ordered a miner to dig a thin shaft behind the spawn, leaving only a thin veil of soft earth between it and the fortress. Then, in equal secrecy, I ordered the assemblage of our entire military.
After no one arrived I re-ordered their appearance with less secrecy. (Apparently messenger emu are not used for a reason, who knew?) This time they assembled quickly, believing that this was a tactic meeting they cramming into the narrow tunnel in a confused mass of sweaty dwarves.
”As you know,” I announced, my perfect voice ringing out across the horde of dwarves and war dogs,
”the key factor in any battle is the element of surprise.” As I spoke I motioned for the miner to drive his pick through the remaining veil of earth that separated us from the spawn.
”SURPRISE” The resulting battle was slow to start. The spawn stared at us, its mouth and lower body agape in surprise. (At least I think it was surprise, hard to tell on those buggers.) My troops stared back. The air was thick with tension.
My noble dog (named catten, get it journal? A dog named catten?*) was the first to recover, leaping forwards to bite the vicious spawn, but a single brutal swipe of the Spawn’s talons removed my poor Catten’s foot from her leg. Her loss, however, was not in vain, for she galvanized the men (and manly women) into action. In moments the spawn was swarmed under a writhing mass of dwarves.
The first of our blows against it split its skull down the middle, the next stroke was a shield bash that caved the side of the thing’s head in, then The Master decided to do something rather strange. (Perhaps in vengeance for his own earlier bite wounds.)
The battle concluded at long last when HARD landed a strong bash that toppled the spawn back off the ledge, shattering its bones many feet below.
The men cheered in victory and hit me roughly as a sign of camaraderie (word a day calendar), by Armok did a lot of them feel camaraderie for me that day. My face is still sore from their camaraderie.
Dwarf Date 203.01-8 Through senses that were hitherto (I love this calendar!) unknown to me I was able to tell that the spawn had been able to clamber out of its pit and wander off the edge of the map.
Beardsense, that’s what I’ll call this new power…
Dwarf Date 203.01-13 Dwarves under my command have died today, thankfully they were both friends so they’ve been saved the trouble of mourning eachother. It happened when I was going out on an expedition to pick some wildflowers for my hair, something that I was told was impossible because of a bunch of greenskins camped outside.
Furious that a bunch of measly goblins were preventing me from my own damn field of, admittedly bloody, wildlflowers I ordered our beleaguered (I’m going to have to get dozen of these things when the next caravan arrives) soldiers to assemble in front of the gate, minutes before I ordered the very gate to be lowered.
The battle was fierce, pikes stabbed in all directions, hammers smashed greenskin skulls, but we were invincible. The only little niggle was that one of the Goblins didn’t get the invincibility memo, flicking his silver whip-thing through HARD and Obok’s heads as fast as lightning.
I remember feeling a deep sorrow as I saw their bodies fall to the floor, I had liked HARD’s socks, and it was going to be a pain to get his brain juice of them.
The goblin was killed at long last when one of the attack dogs ripped his throat out and he bled death, further adding to the necessity of cleaning the clothes of Obok and HARD before I
stole put them to good use.
It seemed that the very instant we finished fighting, the emu that Mr. Frog decided to put into the ceiling started screaming again. My Beardsense informed me that there were a further five goblins coming through the fortress, probably to have strong words about their brothers that we had just brutally murdered.
That didn’t change the fact that it was time for lunch.
Everyone took five and wandered back down the halls to get a plump helmet, everyone except for me that is. I had managed to tangle my pike through my shirt whilst petting Cattan for his good work, pulling it over my head and rendering my keen dwarfsight useless. Forced to rely on my Beardsense I wandered through the halls, bumping my pike into the walls and other objects as I walked and struggled to disentangle my pike from my shirt at the same time. Eventually the objects I was bumping into started howling in pain, I apologized profusely and tried to get out of the way, only to poke another soft thing. I kept on that way for a few minutes, jumping around left and right, unable to see who in red sticky circus it was I was bumping into.
Using my innate cunning I was at last able to pull my shirt down over my body and free my pike, allowing me to see the poor people I’d been poking. Thankfully my dear journal, they were merely the goblins I had been warned about, and after my incredible display of skill and transdorfinic ability they were on the run. Well, except for the dead one, he stayed right where he was.
Dwarf Date 203.01-24 After taking a long and well deserved rest I’ve decided to give everyone a questionnaire about what they can do, what they are doing, and what they want to be. It took a while, but after reviewing the results I was able to toss them into the magma forges and tell everyone what I thought they should be.
There were a great many gestures of camaraderie that day.
Dwarf Date 203.02-1 I’ve learned of the discovery of a vast pillar of adamantine beneath our fortress, appalled that such an incredible resource was going to waste I have immediately ordered it to be mined out.
Superstitious mumblers have levied some threats, but everyone with a half a brain knows that the circus is a myth, exactly like the spawn locked away in our holding cells.
Dwarf Date 203.02-2 Me and The Master have had a bit of an argument recently, mostly over that overgrown toothpick he’s gotten so fond of. The bloody dwarf just kept going on about the grain and how it felt under his hands, I do believe that he’s going to end up naming the damn thing and marrying it one day.
The argument came to blows, but it was really something that we should consider an impromptu sparring match for the purposes of crime and justice.
That’s what I’m telling everyone anyway.
Dwarf Date 203.02-7 I’ve named myself mayor! The position is twice as prestigious as expedition leader, and I’m supposed to get a generous set of rooms to go with my new job.
Strange. I already feel myself growing unhappy that I don’t have those rooms.
Dwarf Date 203.02-14 Err, I went a bit out of my head there for a bit, and I think I may be a wanted criminal now… I was walking back to patrol the woodland with my mug class battalion (isn’t that fancy sounding?) when I stopped in front of the old blood spattered bridge, realizing that I’d gone and forgotten to grab those sock’s off HARD’s body before the blood dried into them.
All of that on top with not receiving any news about my dear mother’s condition from the mountainhomes (she’s been dead for about a year now, but I’m hopeful) made me go a little crazy for a bit. I picked up HARD’s body and threw it into the wall, clear away from the blessed socks. Then I might have dealt a few blows to the critical parts of the Bridge’s mechanisms.
Personally I blame the sudden collapse on stone fatigue, but do the mason's listen? Nooo.
Dwarf Date 203.02-18 By Armok’s infinite beard, Migrants! A good steady chain of twenty dwarves and two traders (No one knows why they’re here and nobody has had a bit of luck getting them to do anything) has brought new life to our fortress.
Of course the lack of a functional bridge has put a bit of a damper on things, forcing me to dig a temporary side passage out of the fort so they could come inside.
Dwarf Date 203.02-24 I ran into Ashsaber the Second the other day, apparently the man came to visit his relative. A man who, I’m told, turned into a spawn earlier. Considering the fact that the spawn are a myth I was able to deduce that Ashsaber II’s brother was in fact a myth to begin with. He gave me a friendly pat on the face when I informed of this, a token of his esteem for my boundless intelligence, but I di-dress. (MUST FIND NEW CALENDAR. The spilled wine on this one makes it hard to read.) Ashsaber the second’s problem was that he felt he was starving to death, I told him that those feelings were simply not possible, but, compassionate soul that I am, asked him to check with our records keeper.
The news that we are in fact out of food was rather disturbing, but I’ve cleverly counteracted the dastardly plot of our stomachs by enacting a stringent rationing plan. I estimate that this measure alone will stretch our supplies of nothing out into the next year.
Splint, however, didn’t think that measure was good enough, and he’s started slaughtering some of our emu’s for meat. What will the man think of trying to eat next, mugs?
Dwarf Date 203.3-3 Mosia has fallen into a strange mood, I don’t know why and I really wouldn’t care except for the fact that she’s taken up residence in one of the workshops that I’ve ordered moved. How on earth are we to compete in the cross-fortress strange mandate races if people keep sitting in the things we’re trying to move?
Well, that frustration aside, she has brought together a rather unusual set of materials.
Dwarf Date 203.3-5 After gathering yellow jaspers and some GCS silk we had lying around Mosia has commenced work on her little project, hopefully something nice. A matching set of mugs would be good.
Dwarf Date 203.3-10 Mosia has completed her work, it’s nice enough I suppose, but for some reason I can’t seem to wear it. What good is a crown if the rightful leader of this citadel can’t wear it?
Dwarf Date 203.3-14 An elven caravan has arrived. I’d be more excited my dear journal, but I have no idea what they would have that is any use to us. Trading commenced slowly, we gave them a couple mugs in exchange for food, wood, leather, and another word a day calendar for me. (Wine stains are impossible to get out of goblin leather pages)
Dwarf Date 203.3-20 We have fallen under attack, our cowardly foes have swarmed upon our peaceful commune, (There is something different about this calendar…) challenging our vary existence in this bloody domain!
First it was a goblin ambush attacking a woodgathering party, then as the gatherers ran an ambush of mountain men attacked from the opposite direction. Pinned our poor gatherers tried to flee out into the open, only to be faced with a third and fourth goblin ambushes!
These terrible events coincided with a sudden reanimation of the dead in the waste. Splint said something about there being invisible necromancers in the west, but that’s just crazy talk.
To battle my dear journal, I’ve wasted all the time I can on drinks, food, and gathering my equipment, and so with any luck the battle will be over by the time I arrive.
Dwarf Date 203.3-24 For four days this battle has gone on. Four days. Does anyone have any idea how many words I missed learning in four days?! Wretched goblins have no sense of decency, disembodied arms even less so.
Nine dwarves did us the disservice of dying in battle, leaving us to pick up the bits of their corpses and haul them into boxes for them. I’ve posthumously cited all of them for a lack team spirit. Of course I can only remember the names of four of them**, -Chopsabu, Zuglarr, Juunya, and Nottar- so I suppose the other six are going to get off light in the afterlife.
Ah well, such is life, or death rather. I’m still feeling alright, but I’ve banned the export of catapult parts so we can build up our siege base. The others look at me like I’m crazy for doing it since we don’t produce catapult parts, but it is better safe than sorry.
Dwarf Date 203.4-4 The last of the animated limbs has been put back to rest, but though we searched high and low there was no sight of the necromancers. The fools must have heard that I approached and fled in terror!
*Seriously, my Dog’s name is Catten.
**The other five were undorfed.
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