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[Keldor]

Diary of Keldor:

There are rumors of a dwarf dressed in black leather running about saving dwarves from everything from the Dread Camels to swarms of small demons.  Whenever these rumors come up, I can't help but think of one particular dwarf who always wore black leather armor, one who was more than tough enough to do all the things this rumored dwarf is said to do.  One to whom I owe my life.

There's only one problem:  That dwarf is dead.  Snake died saving my life during one of our all too frequent goblin ambushes.

And yet...

Perhaps I should pay a visit to his resting place.  Lenod knows that I spend enough time in the catacombs encrusting coffins with gems to be able to go there without arousing suspiscion.  After all, stranger things have happened at Migrursut...

[Heavy Flak]

From the files of Aryn Estetar
13^th of Felsite, 1069

There are assassins lurking in shadows everywhere.  My aides say this is paranoia, the console says I have a Managers Mind - that after so long, I see problems everywhere I look.  I say they are idiots, and blind.  What are these deaths if not an attempt on our society as a whole?  What are these bombings, these rallies, these ignorant workers screaming for blood if not insiders attempting to wreck havoc from within?

A family arrived today, a military couple trailed by their two brats.  This in itself is wholly uninteresting, except they arrived smiling.  The parents pointed out the wonders of our fortress, the spires of the closed Church of Zefon, the horrid marvel of the Poison Temple, the Great Pit yawning across miles of desert expanse.  Their children arrived jovially, plump and happy.  When their feet hit the stones they were greated by the dwarves; the children are currently deconstructing scaffolding, the parents training with Merkil after being given a personality profiling by Glacies.

Who arrives here happy?  No one, that's who.  Not our merchants, not our migrants, not even our original seven who came here scared, and angry, and immediately accosted by giant poison-barbed corpses.  These migrants claim that the merchants have talked of the wonders of our home, that through the lands our prosperity, our tenacity, and our hardiness have been an inspiration for Dwarves everywhere, and the shackles of Goblin oppression are being thrown off at every turn - and they wish to be apart of this history-making endeavor. 

I don't believe it for a second.  The only piece of this puzzle I have yet to put together is who they are working for.  Are they with that terrorist Telamon?  Or goblin-born traitors coming to spy among their own blood-kin?  Are they from the last lines of the Queenship, still holding on precariously in their mountain halls? 

Who knows.  I should have just locked them in The Black Cells and been done with it, instead of allowing more lying filth to cross the threshhold of my home.

[Keifru]

Argh, Kivish, she has been struck down? I must come up with a final diary note now...
and maybe request another dwarf xD

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 24^th of Felsite, 1068

Flitting in and out of conscienceness, Butcher Gateclap thought she heard a knock upon her chamber door.  With a strength of will even she found surprising, Gateclap pulled herself into a sitting position.  She picked up her drink from the side table - water and rat weed sweetened with honey - and took a big drink before calling out weakly, "Come in."

The door opened, and Jotwebe slid in, smiling ear to ear.  "Heeey," she said jovially.  The craftsdwarf walked over to the butcher's bedside and gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.  "How are things going?"

"Oh, they could be better...  Dojango says I'm lucky, if that sword swing was a little bit higher it could have hit my heart or brain, or both, but he thinks it'll grow back soon enough."
"He's quite a doctor, isn't he?" Jotwebe said reverently. 
"Oh yes, and that nice human merchant-guard has been keeping me company too, sometimes, so that's pleasant."
"Human merchant-guard?"
"Yes, the one that's been living in the workshops."
"Oh, you poor, poor thing..." Jotwebe cood, and patted her arm again.  "You need to have your rat weed intake reduced, you're seeing things.  Here, I made you something to keep your spirits up while you're in here."

"It wasn't made from my foot, was it?" Gateclap asked suspiciously. 
"Of course not!  That would be morbid, no, I made you a game set."

From behind her back, Jotwebe produced a masterfully crafted puzzle box, the edges lined with small bones and green gems.  She made a series of motions, sliding edges, pushing levers, and eventually the lid of the box swung open on well oiled hinges.  Inside were a set of bone dice.

"There, see?  When you figure out how to get it open, you'll still have something to do with dice games."
"Why are there five dice?"
"Because toes come in sets of- ohhh, ha ha, you almost got me!" Jotwebe said, wagging a finger at her.  "No, because that's just how dice come.  In sets of five.  Now you take good care of those, and maybe when you get better I'll be make you something else.  Tah, now!"

As Jotwebe left, Gateclasp looked down into the box, at the set of dice.  She sighed quietly, and gave a shake of her head.  "The merchant-guard was right, she really is an ass..."

[Jim Groovester]

This is a little old, but bare with me.

And Heavy Flak, shouldn't you have gotten a new hammerer by now?

The journal of Lieutenant Hikan Riddlewire, hidden in the wastes.
Entry for the week of 8th Slate.

Stupid Vatek! ARGH!

I need to find him, because I have important information that I need to tell him if this fortress is going to survive this year, but he's been unusually unavailable. He sleeps during the day, and I can't find him at night, and when I do find him, he's so sleepy that it's hardly worth talking to him about anything.

As I was trying to find him, I saw a goblin in denim cut off a butcher's leg. I responded in kind. Or tried to. He actually kicked my ass. It was embarassing. Now, I'm trained to kill with this extendable spear of mine, but getting my ass so handily served to me was a humiliating experience. I have a smidgeon more respect for the military now.

When I came to, since I was apparently knocked unconscious, Adol and, of all people, Maggarg were standing above me. After what I did to him, I'm surprised he just didn't run me through right there.

They told me that the bad ass goblin got away, dammit. I asked them, since I was in no position to order them after getting my ass kicked like that, to watch Dodik's, since bad ass would probably be back. Adol, and even Maggarg, the decent dwarven being he was, agreed.

This brings up the very important issue of security in Migrursut. Dodik's is impenatrable, since all the soldiers go there, and Stravitch probably has a sixth sense about the whorehouse and when it's threatened. In addition, I've been ordered by Aryn to stay away from it, so I don't even need to bother worrying about it.

The rest of the city is not so fortunate. Vatek has helped in the past, but now he just sleeps when he should be patrolling the grounds looking for disruptive elements. That leaves me and nobody else, and I'm spread way too thin. If I can't kill one goblin, how am I supposed to protect this city?

I think I might propose to Aryn a secret coalition of loyal dwarves designed to ferret out rebellious elements and make them disappear. It would differ from the fortress guard in that it would actually be effective at reducing crime and sabotage, and its members would be chosen by me and approved by Aryn. A secret police force, so to speak. He's rejected other ideas of mine, with such denegrading remarks as, "No, you idiot!" But if he doesn't go for this, I won't know what to do.

[Keifru]

Diary property of Kivish. Takers will be striken with insanity.
Date:

Today Sgt. Pepper told me to meet him out in the sands...must be really cool if he wants to show me out of the eyes of everyone else! I'm thinking I will leave early and surprise him with something of my own...hmmm...I've been working on a sword with a cloud etched on it.  It is a prototype of a new smithing technique I made by accident; I think I found a way to make our metal lighter, but still be just as strong. If so, we could make armor out of it and our military would be less hindered in the fights against the newly-grown giant goblins. And the swords would be swifter, among other weapons.

Note: We should see if we can find what the heck those goblins eat. Giant dwarves > Giant gobbos.

Anyway, things have been going on great. Except the whole Telamon thing. I dunno about that guy...I've heard some bad things blamed on him in the past, but I have not seen him do anything now that 'he is actually here'. Maybe some people are just using him as a scapegoat... Or maybe there was someone controlling him?

Aryn...I don't like him. If anyone is insane, it is him, and I don't know about his huge plan. It looks like he made a gilded death trap and wants us all to march into it with smiling faces.

Below is an image of dwarf with a mask. The dwarf is raising up a sword. It has a cloud on it.

[[This was the last entry found]]


I think I'll wait on requesting someone new; I had to much fun as Kivish

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg
We got some new migrants not long ago. Not many, only 2 adults, soldiers, I think, and their children.
I'll have to greet them when they get to the barracks.
I looked through some old books in Glacies' library today. Just because I'm a criminal doesn't mean I don't appreciate books. Some of them are worth a lot.
Anyway, it looks like our goblins are a hell of a  lot bigger than the norm a few hundred years ago.
Hell, they were half the size they are now when I was born.

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 8^th of Hematite, 1068

Hikan tromped out towards the construction sight, his jaw set in grim determination.  Aryn had been a bust - no special squad, no way, bodies and resources were much needed elsewhere.  If the fortress was at danger, than Merkil's training sessions could end early and soldiers could pull extra shifts at the bridge.  The tower wouldn't be rebuilt; it's use was obsolete - soldier blood would guard the entrance, and masons sweat would make future generations safe.  With the beginnings of construction starting in the pit, and Howard in near religious states of excitement, Hikan was left to turn in one direction.

He spied Makrond loitering near a pillar and talking to Rice.  His measuring tape was draped over his neck, clothes pins stuck through the front of his shirt.  While Rice quality listed things off on his fingers, Makrond jotted them down in his small notebook, making the occasionally tally mark beside something important.  As Hikan approached from the side, Makrond offered a warm smile and held up a hand to silence the stone worker.

"Sir, I apologize, but I have another engagement - quite important, for our esteemed peace keeper.  I should have everything needed to start, though, so I thank you for your time."

As Rice left, Hikan folded his arms across his chest.  "What the hell is that all about?" He growled.
"Masons are antsy, with all the talk of poison and madness.  Rice is having leather gauntlets, smocks, and masks made for their group while they do Mister Fillwhip's bidding.  Now, about your request... you know my fee."

Hikan grit his teeth together, his eyes dropping to the ground.  A few moments of uncomfortable silence went past; eventually the soldier coughed and said, "Please, this is... important... to the well being of the fortress.  I... need your help."
"Perfect!"  Makrond gave a little clap, and stuffed his notebook into a back pocket.  "Yes, alright," he lowered his voice conspiratorially.  "I'm working with the... vigilante.  And I promised I wouldn't realize his identity.  But I will help him any way I can, and... he thinks you'll aid him as well.  We'll go to my workshop, I've created a signal to be used in case."

Hikan was becoming dimly aware of a whistling noise, as if from far away.  He squinted and opened his jaw wide, but popping his ears didn't make it go away.  Makrond's eyes went wide, and he gently placed a hand on Hikan's shoulder, saying, "We should move, sir, behind this pillar."

As they stepped behind the pillar, the whistling grew in pitch.  Soon, the ground shook as a boulder smashed into it, tossing up dirt and sand and cinnabar dust.  Hikan noticed with horror that many such boulders littered the sands near the construction site.

"Get backta' work ya' lazy sacks of flesh," Stravitch screamed from on top of the parapet.  He was shirtless again, his normally chalky skin sunburned and angry. 

"He's been doing that all morning," Makrond explained with a sigh.  "If he sees people down here talking - even if they aren't a masons crew - he starts lobbing boulders at them from the wall."

"What are you doing!  Are you drunk?  It's only ten!" Hikan yelled up at him, his hands shaking from the nerve rattling crash of the rock.
"Yer' drunk!" Stravitch screamed back.  He picked up a pebble and chucked it towards Hikan.  It landed nearly a hundred yards short with a dull thump.   
"Stravitch!  Back down, or I'll come up there and haul you to the Black Cells myself for public disruptions."
"Yer' a disruption!  Jus' come... try and get me down from here ya' brayin' ass."

"He's got you there," Makrond said.  "It's best to just ignore him.  He's not a very good shot and we can usually see them coming long before they hit."
"...the only thing the keeps me clinging to this miserable scrap of sand is the thought that asses like Stavitch will get theirs in the end.  Just take me to your workshop and show me your sign, Leatherworker.  I have to double-check the securities on the living quarters at noon."

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 11^th of Hematite, 1068

Vash and Jools walked towards Dodik's, their "church going" outfits stuffed shamefully into their backpacks.  They talked happily though; since Madam Dodik had struck a tenative deal with Aryn, they had been given the blessing to perform regular services.  Even if it was a den of sin, for an hour four times a week, it was the house of God.

Even if she required them to dress as mummers and listen to Mookie's terrible pipe organ.

As the pair stepped into the relative cool of the overhang, they were passed by Sarek stumbling out towards the fortress proper.  She flashed them both a wide smile and a wave, but as they made to move around her she snapped her fingers and came to a stop.

"Hoy, Vash, wait a -hic- minute.  One of the fishers found something for you."

Vash turned to her, perplexed.  That feeling vanished as he saw a thing piece of paper, folded over onto itself pulled from a hip pouch.  A broken glob of wax hung from the flaps, and a hunk of steel dangled ominously from one half of the seal.   

"Here it is... has your name scrawled on it, Fishers said it was 'boring as shit' so we were gunna' give it over to you."

Jools looked on with some amusement as Sarek stumbled off, and at the horror spreading accross his friends face.  Vash's hand was shaking as he looked at the note.  Jools gave him a playful pop on the shoulder, and said with a grin, "Love note, huh?  Maester Kuli certainly wouldn't be happy to hear you have a little tart coming out of this place.  Let's see what it says."

Before he could act Jools snatched the paper out of his hands.  He unfolded it, and Vash's heart sank in his chest as he watched one of the soldiers eyebrows raise quizically. 
"...'Understanding Born of Flames' - what does THAT mean?"
"It's... it's a poem." Vash said quickly. 
"A poem?  That's a poem?"
"I guess?  My... little tart is sweet, she's not smart," Vash said with a sickly smile.

Jools barked out quick laughter and handed the note back to Vash and turned to head inside.  Vash spared the note one quick confused glance, mopped sweat from his forehead, and listlessly followed the soldier inside to aid in their Maester's sermon. 

[Jim Groovester]

Na na na na na na na na Vatman! It's a combination of Vatek and Batman. Get it? Get it?

The journal of Lieutenant Hikan Riddlewire, hidden in the wastes.
Entry for the week of 8th Hematite.

Journal, I've long told you how strung out I feel. How I need help, how this city will implode despite my best efforts, how many ideas I've told Aryn about to help, how Aryn never goes for it, and on, and on.

But I never, ever wanted to actually admit it to somebody. Makrond's price was far greater than I would normally be willing to pay, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And trading some of my despair away for temporary humility is a fair bargain in these times. That doesn't mean I'm not pissed about it, though.

Makrond and the masked dwarf have developed some sort of signal that I can use to contact the masked dwarf should I need his help. Although, a signal to contact one dwarf in a city of less than two hundred and falling seems like a very roundabout way to contact anybody at all. But I'll play his game, since apparently, I'm helping him, instead of the other way around.

Stravitch has found time for a new hobby in his retirement: drunken siege engine operation. While drunken siege engine operation sounds like an accident waiting to happen, I see it more as an opportunity waiting to be seized.

[Groveller]

Na na na na na na na na Vatman! It's a combination of Vatek and Batman. Get it? Get it?

Another forum I frequent had a character called Vatman, with a very similar theme tune. Only that masked vigilante got his name because he worked with vats a lot.

[thunderclan]

Stravitch has found time for a new hobby in his retirement: drunken siege engine operation. While drunken siege engine operation sounds like an accident waiting to happen, I see it more as an opportunity waiting to be seized.

Wouldn't EVERYTHING Dwarves do be drunken? We're talking about Dwarves after all.

[Glacies]

Hikan doesn't drink. Otherwise, he becomes..er..different.

[Heavy Flak]

Another forum I frequent had a character called Vatman, with a very similar theme tune. Only that masked vigilante got his name because he worked with vats a lot.

I'm afraid to ask what exactly Vatman would be doing working with vats. 

Glacies: Perhaps Hikan has an alcohol intolerance?  Or maybe he's like me... there are times when I just want to be in a bad mood.  I don't know why I'd want to, I just do, I sit at home and think, "Man, I could really go for being pissed off."  At times like that, I go out and buy a bunch of Steele Reserve and by the end of the night I'm ready for a fight.  Maybe that's how he feels with his water.

Jim Groovester: I missed a question earlier, but yes indeed, we have gotten a hammerer.  Nothing happened to warrant her, so I let it slide by the wayside.  But good catch, none the less.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg.
Nearly got hit by a meteor today.
Great big lump of rock hurtling out of the sky.
The weird thing is, it stank of rum.