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[Neri]

1st Granite, 110.

     A full year has passed since I ascended to my primacy, and I have realised I have far to go. Much work remains to be done, much of it tedious, and to this point, I have ordered several axctions to be commenced.
     Skeletons must be made, to do the labour that would have any possibility of breaking a nail on my rigorously manicured hands.
A pit has been ordered, to hold our reserve forces of undead until such time as they are needed.
     Smelting operations have been commenced and are slowly proceeding, and soon we shall be able(so I have been assured) to have several anvils available, allowing the creation of Ironbone, rather than these paltry mundane materials my Steward recommends. 

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[Neri]

19th of Bloody Felsite, 110.

     Despicable! Intolerable! Inconceivable! Thrice Cursed Elves have been spotted wielding blades and ears to equal effect, their ambush interrupting my progress on the defence systems and my personal bedroom! These pointy-eared menaces shall join my ranks either as material for the walls, or as undead servants by months end! I have called the charge to the ghouls, and look forward to touring the battlefield in the aftermath, however, I seem to have forgotten something, and shall need to retrieve it from the deeper end of the fortress immediately!

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[SharpKris]

A tower made of bones... brilliant! loving the writing

[Tenderroast]

awesome story! Great writing, cant wait to see where this goes.

Question: are you taking naming requests of any kind?

[Neri]

First DF Story, but sure, skellies and ghouls can accommodate any who aren't fussy, and maybe some locks.

No personality is guaranteed, but will be considered if requested.

Also, any advice on playing (so as to show off the mod mostly, or something obvious I'm missing) is appreciated, though may not be implemented.

[Neri]

27th Felsite, 110.

     My errand in the deep mines unfortunately prevented me from routing the enemy myself, however I am told our ghouls performed competently, and the talk of the fortress is the impaling of one of the elves with a pitchfork, somehow severing an entire leg. In more relevant news, my hair has started to become dry, and thus I have ordered the construction of a chemists laboratory, as all know a true tyrant must have flawless good looks to complement an incredible mind.
     Oh, and the creature pit has been completed, allowing captured enemies (gibbons, elves, giant slugs, what have you,) to be tossed off the side of my Tower, and into a recessed pit where they are promptly set upon by hungry zombies. Then the remains of these poor foolish creatures are then reanimated due to the power of my Necromantic Circle, thus proving the point of whence power comes, through the proper shapes, and not through some paltry ‘Satrap’s Square’ or ‘Square of Sable’ or what have you, Once again proving my Master was wrong, and offering further proof of my superiority.
     
     This is also helped by my dashing good looks.

     Some ghouls are injured, and seem unable to stand, though I am not sure what to do about that. Maybe some comforting words, followed by some motivational whipping? For rotting creatures of death and carrion eating, they seem to make a large fuss over a few paltry missing digits or limbs.

[Tenderroast]

in that case, i would like to request a smithy skeleton, or a ghoul in the military

[Neri]

Sorry guys, this last couple of days has been hectic, and tomorrow isn't looking any better.

Tenderroast shall be named/shamed/turned into an undead horror at the earliest opportunity, along with any other requests, soon as I get more than an hour at a time to sit down.

[Neri]

24th Limestone, 110.

     Why must my lessers always pester me? "We want proper beds!" "Flies are annoying us!" "Barrgaroosth! Kaargabab!"

     Although, that last one was the ghoul trying to communicate past the arrow sticking through its jaw, so it might have some excuse for unintelligibility, unlike most of my flunkies.
     Last to bother me in this way was a warlock. The lackey in question should have been proud to die guarding me, and diving in front of me to take the bite of the Maned Wolf that was attacking me, but NO! Waah Waah Waah.
     Constant bleating of "I need a proper burial" "At least could you memorialise me?" bah! the body has barely gotten time to grow cold over the last few weeks or so, with this warmer weather, so there is no need for this unreasonable haunting. Necromantic Alters are not trivial peices to build, and this is all without mentioning the latest unbelievable revelation! A pair of warlocks have petitioned me to be allowed to train in the drudgery of combat techniques, so I thoughtfully (As I always am to the needs of my flock) and regretfully gave my acquiescence to the pair of them, setting them to train under a skeleton I appointed to facilitate this pointless and smelly exercise into my good nature.

     Finally, Jreb has become quite adept at giving manicures, and as it is such a manly habit to have (given the name, I do not see why so many seem to believe otherwise, but then, inbreeding is rife amongst the peasantry.) that I have gone from one a week, to several, usually three a week.

[Neri]

14th Moonstone, 110.

     Our crafters seem to enjoy giving us ornate yet useless artifacts. A 'Compact Peat Scabbard', where a Dolomite Footbath was requested, and a shell backpack where a yellow diamond end-table was ordered. The first can be forgiven, as a skeleton was possessed mid-craft, crudely wrenching the delicate magics we use to control or servants out of my finely-tuned and rigorously meticulous control.
     The Second however, will not be tolerated. The Warlock in question has been demoted to menial duties as a result, making bone crafts as punishment until my fury abates. Also, pudding privileges have been withdrawn.

     In other news, I have crafted a new skeleton to cope with our ash and smelting productions whom I have deigned to give the nickname TenderRoast, because of the smell it always seems to have around it, probably from cremating vermin, and, if we ever find any of the near-worthless base metals in this mine our single mining skeleton has been hewing at, I shall instruct TenderRoast to craft me some anvils, and then on to make intricate bloodsteel statues, and other furnishings for my quarters. Oh, and possibly some arms and armour for our varied forces-in-training.

     Speaking of whom, our ghouls have been relieved of duty until they stop continuously rotting in our formerly clean infirmary, with only the 'Lockie Squad' currently on duty. Lacking decent Mage Staves, or Wraithblades (As I am not giving up my staff of office), I have set them to learning the finer points of stabbing things (Like the uncouth barbaric peasantry they are) with copper pitchforks. The ensuing hilarity has helped to brighten my day whenever I walk past the training grounds.

[Neri]

6th Opal, 110.

     My Genius is again showing its true worth. Our lack of anvils has been a niggling disappointment to me, as many of the finer embellishments for my quarters are only available with the hard work of a smith working the wonders of blood, ash and soul to enhance bone to almost unfathomable levels.
     However, with the quiet year, our enemies understandably trembling at my arcane might, I have had an unfortunate dearth of materials to met down. Until of course, I in my perceptive ways, realised mithril is often used in Anvils. This could revolutionise the entire layout of my personal space! sold gold floor, dreadnaught animated armours serving me tea, and filling in for the lovely Jreb's fairly modest skill at manicuring, and looping silk tapestries of my irrevocably fated victories!

((I am an idiot for not realising this alternative sooner.))

[Neri]

20th Opal, 110.

     A cavern has been found, beneath our very feet! despite extensive digging, our mining skeleton has found no trace of metals, and my brilliant plan for melting down detailed and artful elven weaponry, their materfully detailed armour, and even the well crafted arrows in a futile bid to make the six bars of mithril my Steward, the down-to-Numnir barbarian, believes we need for two anvils. However, despite extensive shaving of the sides, there was only enough for five my disappointment was profound, and I sated myself with a large meal of dwarf-syrup pudding.
     I have thusly given the command for our skeleton to dig deeper, in the hopes of enough base metal to furnish our needs.

     In better news, the construction of our library will commence soon, and we can finally begin the research and painstaking effort involved to augment ourselves with true, and majestic power. But, for that we shall need to write many tomes, that my brilliance may help to shine enlightenment down to these simpletons I have saddled myself with. Leadership is ten parts brilliance, one part genius, and one part sheer arcane knowledge. Thankfully for everyone involved, I have plenty of them all.

[Neri]

The fourth Journal is barely half a page written, with several blank ones behind. It is set with small, semi-precious stones in the cover, and was recovered from a small hollow in the wall of the bedroom of the Steward of RegalDoom, Heznh. It appears to be written in small, blocky script.

     My name is Jreb Uetkamel, and I am a wich.

Not the bigest revalashun, givn I live in a warlok fortres, but its true. The man I love, Heznh, has manajd to convines convinse our 'Overlord' of his loyalti, after I obserfed Mekhelb reading his diari, I manajd to get a few words in, and my love manajd to convinse the Mekhelb he was cunverted to beliefing in him.

We sneek around lots Heznh and me. and we even carvd our inishals inishulls letters in a skeletun. Becose we are in love.

I put paint and clean his fingernails when he wants. then he makes a stinka goohl get flours and he smiles and i try to not be sick. i ask him how majick works, so heznh and me can get by here. til he sets enouf asside to make us live as man and wife. were going to be maried!

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[Neri]

Continuing the third journal, of former Overlord Mekhelb

19th Felsite, 111.

     The year started in a damnably boring manner. imps being born left and right, my continued courtship of Jreb the illustriously beautiful is going better than ever, although her remarkable chastity thus far (considering my natural charm and charismatic nature. Not even mentioning my hair and nails!) has left me much time for thought.
     The World at large has heard of me, and trembles in fear. This I know. It is the only explanation for the sheer lack of invading forces.

     A report of some bow-wielding elves ambushing us has been received in my formal throne room, and while I have some urgent matters to attend to, I shall endeavour to join the battle against those graceful beings at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, I shall seal the fortress, and unleash my putrid army!

[Neri]

4th Malachite, 111.

     Despite overwhelming odds, my Charismatic and devious leadership has seen us through this hurdle to our fate! Captured prisoners and war animals shall be swiftly turned to good use, replenishing our soul and meat supplies. My brilliant 'Flood of Corpses' (Note to self, think up a name more reflective of my genius design) worked despite my varied underlings incompetence. The lever was not connected to the floodgate, and for some reason the work to do so was suspended, probably pending my opinion on some minor detail that their small brains could not conceive of, without me to guide them.

     However, with some quick thinking and rigorous discipline, I was able to command the miner skeleton to dig out a small passage connecting the Corpse pit with the outer world, which had the unfortunate side effect of baring our fortress open to the elves invasion. Elven scouts must have seen this, as the attack began as soon as the wall crumbled. However, bows and arrows are no match for the sheer power of my necromancy. Undead limbs, teeth and horns proceeded to verily rip the elves apart, as well as some forest imps who simply walked in at the wrong time. Much hilarity was had at the little vermins' surprise, so much so that I nearly spilt my blood-wine.

     I have set TenderRoast to melting down some more mithril weaponry, despite the intricate and admirable artwork, we have need of bloodsteel statues.

     Then, during the cleanup, One of the newly minted skeletons decided to go against orders, and start making something. We shall see if there is any merit to its creation. The skeleton and its craft.
     

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