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[Booken the Blue]

-Spring

Dear Journal
Its been 2 months since I have been banished from my old home. They didn't like my idea of a swimming pool, and I propably got blamed on the flood that occured when I tried to dig one. We lost two years of work, along to a couple good dwarves that tried to stop the water. Poor Dimpy died of deshydration during the flood.
She was the leader's mate, yknow. Can't blame me if she was too dumb to open to door and take the stairs out! I have naught idea if they have stopped the flood by now, somehow I doubt it.

I've been traveling alone for so long now I've forgotten how smooth the touch of a women's beard was. Scarse hunting and foraging has kept me alive. By sheer luck there was a dwarven expedition on the way. Seems they were about to dig out a new fortress. I told them of my past work in Zutash Onûl, while carefully omitting how I caused the flood. I proprosed my services, being a master miner, and they readily accepted. They also had a couple tamed wyrms - mighty beasts these be - for labor work. The caraven headed east... always to the east... until we finally found the target mountainhomes.

Shorty told me these parts had some haunted woods. I merely laughed in his face. No dead creature, walking or not, could ever stop a dwarf. I choose the site, higher up in the mountains - to calm their minds - near some healthy woods. I draw the plans, Shorty and I started digging. Phishy started looking for a lake ,while Grumpy took his sweet time drinking our booze. Woody immediately went to work and chopped some woods. In no time, we had our Main Gate dug out.

Our ranger took no time into building some kennels - he wanted his wyrms ready for the hunt. I cautioned him to train them has war wyrms, but he wouldn't hear it - they both were trained as hunting wyrms. Phishy came back with a dozen turtle shells - and complained that the closer lake was too far to act as a proper water source. I said it wasn't a problem, we'll dig out a channel - little did I know how far it was.

-Summer
Dear journal
We had our workshop and living quarters planned out. We started digging, we should have a fully operational workshop by the end of the summer. We'll build out the quarters later - we need to make some bed first. Digging in rock is so much harder - we had both the workshop and the quarters ready by the first spring.

Our ranger encountered some trouble. A wyrm ambushed him, and was not for his pets vigilance, he'd be toast by now. On the plus side, we're gonna eat good tonight. ((He's carrying the dead wyrm in screenshot))

We ate good, allright, but abused on the booze. We emptied our reserves yesterday night. We have a good cook, and somewhat scarce hunt, but we didn't bring a farmer along. Result: We have to survive on water. Murky water. Joy.
Shorty proposed to dig out a long channel into the earth into a dwarf-made lake. Phishy countered the water will never flow that far. I said we couldn't know until we tried it out. So we did.

For 3 weeks Shorty dug out in the earth the longest channel there could ever be. For 3 weeks he slept alone, only coming back to get some food. Where he a lesser dwarf, he'd long abandoned all hope of finishing it now.

-Fall
Dear Journal
I hate murky water. We should had our living quarters by now, but NO. Shorty had to dig that channel down! I need a Amok-be-damned Bed! At least the food is still good. We have our mason, metalsmith, mechanic, kitchen, fishery going, but Woody seems to shun our carpentry. Be lucky we even had a carpenter! And the booze! There is no such this as strawberry booze! First immigrant, I'm having him on farming duties.

Dear journal. Shorty stopped digging out the channel. He's burnt. I'd offer him a week of rest. Except none of us have a bed. We're sleeping on the floor. For 3 damn seasons. Trying to stay cheerful. Hard without booze.

Dear Journal. This may be my final entry, shall they deign to come back and finish the job.
We never had the foresight of putting traps. Most of our planned defense came from fortifications. We had no marksman. They came in. I don't know why. They flew right into our base. And under a minute slaughtered all my companions.
Wyrms. Never I saw such flawless brutality. These creatures are truly the perfect hunters - no wonder our ranger wanted them hunting. I still say war wyrms could have saved our lives.
They flew in, right into our workshop. Their breath set our workshop ablaze. Their claw shredded Shorty. Woody tried to ran away. There was only one way to go - toward their jaws. Their fiery breath burned him to a crisp. His sacrifice allowed me to escape. I ran out as far as I could - to the wagon - where I was out of breath.

-Dear journal
I had it. The booze. The floor. The rain. The murky water. My closest friends dead by the claw of those beast. Our work lost. I was seeing red. I could hear Amok whispering, and before I knew it -
I went Berserk.
My first target was the closest wyrm. Friendly, this one, of such a gentle nature, it was always my favorite. I crushed the life of it with nothing but my bare arms. Even its thick leather could not stop my anger. I nearly felt remorse.

Then the wyrms came back. I screamed, shouted, yelled out of anger, out of pain. Brandished an invisible weapon. Ran to slaughter them! Toward such fury, they had no choice but to run away - scared like the little pups they were. Vengeance would be mine. They ran flew back up to our dug-out quarters. I had them cornered. I was about to go for the kill. I came back to my senses. I could never kill 3 aggressive wyrm by myself.
I ran. They chased. I stopped, turned about, and emulated berserking again. They ran again - but I went the opposite way...

I survived - alone in my fortress. I believe its time for me to take the road, with naught but a hunting wyrm for companion. I'm gonna try and train it so it can defend my beard.

[ April 27, 2008: Message edited by: Booken the Blue ]