Administrator's Log, Macarthy LugginsEntry 1: Leaving Stinthad KodI was summoned most rudely this morning to a late night Council meeting. At first angry about this, I was immediately humbled when my brother Dwarves explained the reasons behind the disturbance.
Apparently I have been chosen as "the perfect candidate" for leading a promising exhibition to "Mabdugibruk". Perfect, they said! That exact word. I always knew they saw the ability in me, the sly rascals!
Admittedly I know little of the region, but Hakrag claims we will be staying in an area known as The Humourous Jungles. According to scout reports, the trees sway beautifully in the breeze and only the delicate giggles of passing Elven children break the blissful silence.
I have already made preparations to leave at once, with a small collection of supplies and a few loyal Dwarves. They seem strangely reluctant to come along, and my attempts to raise their spirits with my trademark witty jokes and comments have inexplicably lowered their mood even further. Miserable bunch.
By contrast, the Mountainhome guardsman at the gate was truly a gentledwarf. He spent much of the evening helping me empty my room, and even offered me a noble steed for the journey. "Good luck, my Lord." He said jovially, "May you have such luck in your adventures that you never again need return to us!"
His fellows joined in the cheering and waving as we departed. Some made some rather unusual parting hand gestures I had never seen before, it was most fascinating. Some kind of military code, perhaps? Nice chaps, every one of them.
Entry 2: ArrivalBy the Divines! My steed perished not even one quarter of the way through the journey! The wagon crashed and bumped incessantly on these obscenely perilous roads and, if this diary may forgive my description, my buttocks feel like an Ogre has been swinging at them with a club.
Worse still, I have not slept for a whole day. At night, the trees become alive with a resounding cackling that is truly terrible. Hakrag has found all this terribly exciting, dimwitted oaf that he is.
When we climbed from the wagon, this scene awaited us:
The huge rocky expanse of the local mountain range towered above us. Rain thundered relentlessly from the skies, soaking my fine robes dreadfully.
I instructed the miners to immediately begin carving a grand entrance for our new home - they seem to have settled for a rather more meagre affair, claiming that they were "tired". Pigswill!
"By my soaking wet beard", I said, "You will dig those tunnels out by tomorrow morning or I will have you all in irons!"
My threat was met with much hearty laughter: I forgot we have no iron at present, much less the ability to make shackles from it. In time these uneducated commoners will regret their insolence!
Entry 3: EstablishedIt's been several weeks now, and we have carved substantial living quarters. The miners, quarrelsome bunch that they are, insisted that the damp stone of the underground water deposits would hinder the grand plans I had laid out for the upper entrance floor.
At their petty request, I ordered that these deposits be tunnelled around and stockrooms be built up. The carpenter and mason of our small group then assembled our first workshops. I insisted a kitchen also be put up - I refuse to eat raw meat like some kind of deranged beast.
With all the effort over the last few days I worked up quite a thirst, so I decided it'd be best to get some hops growing and a still opened up. The first-brewed wine was truly delicious to the palate! The miners grumble that they're thirsty too, but I tell them that rock walls don't dig themselves. When the bedrooms are
finally completed I shall perhaps ration the degenerates a few cups.
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