Overseer! Overseer!
Upon inspection, I believe I have recovered a shard of this monograph, though I did not recognize it at the time.
It reads:
Mechanoids:
The followers of the cult of the mechanism, these deranged individuals often live in tiny, squalid conditions in cramped fortresses with spartan amenities, while the overwhelming bulk of their workforce is spent upon producing and installing incredibly complex sequences of mechanisms. They frequently tap rivers or aquifers, for water powers their tremendous and logic-defying "reactors" from which their dizzying array of mechanisms draw their power.
They believe in, and possibly have as the focus of their cult's religious worship, a most strange thing they call "logic", but not in any sane sense of the term, believing that their logic is somehow derived from water or fluid or the mechanisms themselves. Sometimes they even rely upon animals or captured goblins for their "logic", although all they do is run through the mazes the dwarves have built for them.
Their works are apparently ritualistic gifts for the Gods - simple adding machines built upon tremendous scales, or something called "eightbit" or even a grotesquely complex "water clock" that tells them what month it is, as if they could not learn from simply looking outside their cave.
Very silly bearded freaks, but so self-focused that they are less dangerous ravening lunatics than most.
They wear the brown of wood, bronze, often in ways that make them look like they are trying to appear to be more machine than dwarf, in spite of being little more than wood bark or cloth costumes, and they aspire to wear strange boxes upon which the holy word "GUNDAM" is scrawled, although the meaning behind this word is yet unknown.
Fract
FractFractali
alialite
tetes
ss:
Iconoclasts of the central stairway, and liable to cave in any room made as a simple squre trying to "release the true beauty of geometry", the "fracts" for short are insistent upon a strange obsession with repeating smaller and smaller numbers.
Their fortresses are often quite compact, but nearly impossible to navigate, as they often are strewn like strangely repeating entrails wiggling around with blind corners heading into perpetually branching pathways that are seemingly always identical, yet always growing smaller.
Their fortresses are more harmful to one's sanity than most, and apparently, the denizens of fract nests are no exceptions. They often go for years without eating anywhere but outside in a muddy pit rather than actually build a proper dining or sleeping hall "before its ready" lest they "destroy the majesty of the spiral".
It is better to say that they wear strangely precise disgorgings of random colors than any single color, as they repeat perpetually finer counts of specifically colored individual threads into their fabrics, and some have been seen trying to find a way to make a thread exactly 1/5th the width of a pig tail strand just to continue the pattern.