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[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Spring 27, Fortress log of Geshud Osod in the hand of Thesaurusaurus

It has been years now since some of us saw the outside sun. We've cloistered ourselves in our fortress so that we could work in peace on the next portion of the anticipated constructions. The work that, according to the Hound, may well take decades or centuries to complete. The work on our wall. On THE Wall of Zealots as it were. Nearly everyone has been busy bringing in the quarried stone and turning it into blocks in the central workshops that we've set up in the Fouth hall, or rather, in the Grand Hall. It has been properly expanded and is now a massive room, with vaulted ceilings and smoothed or engraved stone. Excellent statues have been set up at intervals  and the workshops set up near the east of it, where it connects to the new barracks, armory and from there to the central stair. I have wished often that it were more full, particularly of children, who so exemplify life. But perhaps it is appropriate that no such children grace the structure considering this is a fortress of Mondul, goddess of Death. I shall have to ask Led about that particular aspect of our beliefs. My own children have long since passed from the carefree time of youth and much to my sorrow, have gone on to our Lady. Or at least one of them has. My other child, who a few years ago was injured greviously in the head by a goblin thief has, miraculously, recovered entirely from his wound, though the scarring is considerable. We're still not quite sure how it happened. ((OOC: I was under the impression that head wounds didn't heal. Pretty much ever.))

In any case, we've cleansed the Accursed Crack, now no longer quite so accursed, to be honest and in our cleansing have uncovered and marked many, many veins of ore to be mined out in the near future. But for now work on the blocks continue. We've designated a storeroom for them, dug into sand, near the site of construction and as the bins fill in the stockpiles near the workshops we move them en masse to the final location. The walls will be constructed from there via an access tunnel to be dug when we were ready.



We're now ready. In fact, with the exception of the stone in the quarry under the temple, we've used everything else that is not specifically saved for custom work.

We've been working tirelessly for these long months, but without outside disturbances, merchants, ambushes and the like things have progressed remarkably quickly. There are just over 2500 blocks cut and ready to place. The outer walls will be exclusively granite, quarried from deep within the earth, while the inner walls will be of different stones to give the wall a more defensible, layered approach. It will be fully seventy feet wide ((I'm assuming 1 tile in game is approxamitely 10')) and reach up into the sky, smooth and unbroken around our entire claimed land.

Much though has gone into preparation for it and before we sealed ourselves in the lumberjacks, Kolok and... um, I'll have to look her up later, Reg I think, cleared the land. During the summer months when the ponds are thawed we'll build up and during the long winters we'll build out so that we can cut out the water in the ponds and build on a solid foundation the whole way across. The roots of the wall will be sunk into bedrock to prevent settling and cracking, unless the mountains themselves break. Heh.

Priestess Glacies is in charge of the constructions while the Hound and Huntress act as our military protection in case of danger. Considering we'll be opening a breach into the fortress proper in order to construct the walls that is a very real concern. Our masons have reported a number of thieves in the past several months looting the battlefields left unprotected in our isolation. Ah well. Can't really begrudge them a few useless avar rags that we'd just trade away anyways. At least they're not stealing our booze or gems.

Love to see the look on a goblin thief's face should it enter the Temple itself and make it to the High fane. Hundreds of skulls all stare at the entrance from the stairs and it's quite an imposing sight. Ah well, back to work. I hear Ragnar will be breaking through the topsoil any minute now and we're to be ready to begin the walls the second she's done.

[skaltum]

Reviving because this is amazing and should be in the hall of legends if it isnt already

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

The clerk wiped the sweat off his brow so that it wouldnt' interfere in the upcoming battle but his helmet still felt uncomfortable and awkward. His plate armor was even worse, a heavy solid affair of steel masterfully embellished with the bones of their fallen foes. His ink-stained fingers trembled slightly as he heard footsteps echoing up the stairs towards the alcove with the lever. Next to him crouched a second dwarf, cloaked despite the heat but similarly armored underneath. He himself carried a heavy steel warhammer, preferred weapon for the priests of Mondul who often hunted the dead as often as the living. The other cloaked figure carried a keen steel shortsword, torchlight glinting off of it.

The room they stood in reeked. It reeked of offal and decay, of bloodstains left uncleaned. But all of those smells were old smells, and faint in comparison with the mingled scents of a plethora of caged creatures. Insectoid, goblins, lizard-men and tiger-men. Thieves, child-stealers, raiders and soldiers. Another scent was in the air.

Fear.

Thesaurusaurus gave a start when a hand clamped down on his arm.

"There is no need to fear. You know why we are here. We are worshippers of death. Of murder. We have discussed this, and at the end of the day we shall be stronger than ever. Every death we bring our deity will grant us favor. Favor, and power. Ragnar has approved of this... exercise and will take care of the others. It will be smoothed over and none need know more. She has been told that the Hound approved the training and to open the gates again at the proper signal."

The clerk nodded, tight-lipped but didn't say a word. He didn't dare, lest it betray his fear. His infrequent lessons had occurred with the leader of this new group at random and odd locations. The old summer-home of the deceased liason. The grave of one of the merchant guards. The third alcove on the east side of the accursed crack heading north from the fortress proper. Thesaurusaurus was still somewhat reticent, despite his committment. He still had a hard time accepting that there was a single deity of death for the various races who just called him by different names. His prayers still ascended to Mondul, at least in private. Another of these went up now and for some reason his blood ran cold.



A lever clinked in the background and he could hear chains being rattled as cages rapidly dismantled before their eyes. His teacher grinned coldly. "Do not worry about being interrupted. From what I understand, the Hound and Fre are just cleaning up after an Avar ambush. Everyone should be quite busy."

And then, cacophony and chaos enveloped him as insects sprang at him out of the semi-darkness chitinous blades on their arms seeking to still his life. His shield came up to block just in time though it forced him back a step. His hammer swung out and missed as another of the creatures jumped in from behind him. His armor probably saved his life then, and only another hundred or so times before it ended. Somewhere along the way he decided to go and thank Oddbod and Kolok since Pete had already passed on. They were the closest thing to armorers that their band had.

It was as if his brain became detached during the fighting and he was thinking of things that needed to be done later while the rest of his mind focused on the fight. Every once in a while his non-fighting side would pause and admire the graceful arc of steel rushing down to crush the carapace of a lunging insectoid as it sprang at him, or the way he could use only the edge of the shield to deflect a blow sideways, to glace harmlessly off his armor. A few of the captured held weapons, but it was not the weapons that were the most fearsome tools. The bugs themselves were their own weapons and immediately after being released began attacking the pair. It was only natural that all of them should be finished before the lizardmen and tigermen and goblins should get the courage to approach.

During the fray his calculating side made note of the lizardman, that it saluted his mentor and spoke to him in a sibilant tongue that he could not understand. To his amazement the dwarf chuckled and responded back in kind, though with clear linguistic difficulty. They saluted again before an insectoid crashed into the dwarf and Thesaurusaurus himself had his attention wrenched away by a wicked slash from another insectoid.

At the end even the cowardly goblins fought, with tooth and nail. But the last to go were the goblins. It wasn't until silence had descended upon the room again and the clerk realized that nothing now stirred in the semi-darkness, except three prisoners whose cages had failed to open, that Thesaurusaurus realized he was the only dwarf standing. He found his fellow locked in a death embrace with a goblin. A dwarven sword lay skewered through a goblins leg and the pair had their hands wrapped around each others throats. The dwarf had apparently suffocated. The goblin bled to death shortly thereafter.

He said another quick prayer to his goddess and felt that all was right again. A warmth flooded into him and he felt weak.

No. Not weak. Tired. Powerful, or more so, but tired.

He dropped to one knee amidst the carnage, unfazed and victorious. He felt what it was to be alive then, well and truly and knew he could never go back to being the same meek, tired old clerk he had always been. The only thing left to do was think about how to conceal his newfound strength from the others.

And continue the work. He rapped a short succession of beats against stone of the floor and the doors soon clicked open as he strode from the room. He needed to make preparations to bury the dwarf that had taught him so much about life. And Death.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

It had been years since the fortress of Geshud Osod had sealed itself in. Most of the dwarves had spent little time out of doors and the Hound of Mondul had been one of them. Only the masons, directed by Glacies, had routine access to the surface weather, a simple fact that many of the dwarves were grateful for.

Particularly since the outside was frozen for eight months of the year.

For three years the dwarves had accepted trade caravans from the humans alone, sealing up the passageways to the Depot for any other comers, elf and dwarf alike. Now both the Hand and the Hound of Mondul stood guard at the base of the ramp.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fre stamped her feet, trying to vainly shake some of the flies away from her face.

"Bah, I can't abide flies. I don't know how you stand it with them buzzing incessantly around you."

The Hound looked up, face impassive, gaze distant as if lost in thought. He cocked his head as as faint buzzing tremors could be felt through his feet.

"Meh, it's not flies I'm worried about."

Fre swatted another and gave an exultant cry as she removed her hand, leaving a small black and red smear on her breastplate.

"Hah, got one! That calls for a drink. I'ma headin' in. Call if anything fun happens."

At the top of the ramp she glanced behind her. The sun glinted off of Paulus far below, whose hammer now rested in his hand as he idly swung it back and forth as if stretching.

The last few years had been good. She sighed, contented, and took a deep breath, before coughing violently and doubling over in pain. Her lung injury had never fully healed and still pained her. Many a morning she woke up in a sweat, gasping for air that her panicked body simply couldn't seem able to supply fully. Everything took longer longer now as well. Even the climb up the central stair now left her gasping like a fish out of water.

Then it struck her. This must be what it felt like to get old. Somehow, she simply never thought it would happen to her. The thought brought a strange giddiness, as if somehow she had beaten her foes. As if the elvish demons that haunted her dreams had lost somehow by not destroying her sooner.

She straightened out and headed below, out of breath by the time she arrived at the Bold Anvil. It seemed strangely empty without Der Kartoffel, and she was forever finding little flasks of strange liquids all over the place that she dare not try. Not after that first one that had left her wretching her guts out in the sand near the refuse pile.

The alarm call reverberated through the stone around her, a heavy hammer striking a foot thick metal rod embedded deep into the bedrock of the fortress. A single hit. Repeated three times. Ah, just an ambush. By the time she'd make it top side and could catch her breath it would likely all be over. She poured herself a glass and sat at the end of the bar. Five minutes later Sarah rushed through from the wall-side, hammer in hand and went by without saying a word.

Lost in her thoughts she didn't know how long it was before Ragnar kicked the door open, helping a limping Paulus in as they sat at the bar. Ichor stained the outside of Paulus' armor in dozens of places and a few large gashes could be seen in the metal. Blood, dark and red dripped rapidly out of the Hound's right glove pooling in a little puddle on the floor next to where he sat. Ragnar was splattered in gore, but none of it appeared to be her own.

Both dwarves had slightly maniacal grins.

"Fre, ya missed the fun! Paulus here nearly got hisself et by the little beasties."

Paulus popped Ragnar upside the head lightly with his good arm. "Bugger off, eh?"

One look at Ragnar sent the other sniggering and soon all three were laughing heartily.

It didn't take too much longer for all three to take one of the larger tables in the corner and to have broken open a half dozen kegs in celebration.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Ragnar cursed silently to herself as she worked the stone with her shovel. It promptly occurred to her that with the noise she was making and the distance she was from the fort it would make little difference.

She quickly began swearing out loud.

"Of all the flamin' ideas o' how ta get rid o' the undead..." A grunt and the stone in front of her broke loose, a large chunk fell to the debris strewn floor. She'd clear some room later and toss the larger chunks off the edge into the Accursed Crack itself to make room for more.

Her voice put on a tenor-ish sound "We'll just drain the lake!" as she grinned stupidly and cocked her head to one side.
"Sun-touched idjits."

Another grunt as another large chunk broke loose from the wall ahead of her revealing a darkish stain spreading across the stone. She surveyed the little cavern she had carved out on this level and the twin ramps that led to the main outlet for the intended lake behind her that would dump the water into the fissure.

"Don't know what I was thinking tellin' 'em it was a good idea. Should have known. Ah should've known."

Her shovel struck again and she leveraged the metal handle back from where she had struck. A chunk of the wall shifted and almost instantly a massive roaring filled the tunnel, knocking her back and sweeping her off her feet in the wall of pressurized water that shot out of the hole she had created. Her light went out and she was left in darkness, tumbling in the water, unable to get air for what felt like an eternity. Her head struck something hard and she reached out and caught herself on the lip to the ramp. She dared not let go, despite the burning in her lungs and arms as the water tore past her.

After what felt like another indeterminable time spots started appearing in her vision and she knew she would have to move or die.

With near herculean strength she pulled herself up to the lip and out of the main current into the little upper room she had carved. Miraculously she managed to throw herself into the clear space between the two ramps of flow and lay gasping in the small pocket of air that remained in the room and water eddied around her and flowed swiftly but less turbulently now through the exits into the void behind and beneath her.

She sucked air in great lungfuls, or tried to between the great fits of coughing up water. The cold water rushed past her, filling her life and she sat waist deep in water leaning against a cavern wall. Only hoping now that the water would stop running before her air supply failed alltogether.

She shook her head clear.

"Of course I'd be the one tasked to attempt this idocy. I'm the only one crazy enough to try and drain a lake from beneath."

She relaxed as the water rushed by her and was nearly lulled to sleep by the rushing water. And suddenly in her ears she heard a voice.

"Ragnar, my child. You have served me well of late. I give you now my blessing. Be thou reborn!"

A sudden warmth filled her limbs like a rushing fire and in the dark and damp of the cave she shot to her feet, gasping and wakeful suddenly as wisps of steam flowed past her nose from where she stood in the water. The knowledge of her god's presence suddenly filled her with an inner peace and surety. She knew she would survive.

It took what seemed like an eternity for the water to run out and soon she could hear the sounds of splashing from above. Likely Paulus finishing off the last of the undead in the Crack, the waterlogged zombie cave alligators, lizardmen and whatnot that lurked in the water above. Not long after the water slowed to a stream and one of the ramps ceased to be utilized altogether. As she exited she stumbled across her shovel, wedged into a corner by the force of the initial flow and she made her way, soaking wet towards the fortress.

By the time she was halfway there she was, once again, dry. Her limbs felt invigorated, as if the water had washed off her burdens and the cares of the past lifetime and as she approached the fortress she exulted in her newfound confidence. Shouting she proclaimed:"I have been reborn!"

It echoed around and around in the Crack she had once so despised, rebounding on her as she felt the truth of that statement ring through her. It wasn't until she entered the fortress proper that something else occurred to her as Oddbodd gave her a strange look, and looked again after she had passed.

Boink came across her and gasped suddenly.
"Ragnar! You're naked!"

(Yeah, all her clothes had long since rotted off. Pretty much everyone is in this position but in her case she had so many coverings of dirt, blood, vomit and such no one would have been able to tell. Amazing what a bath will do. I think I'll have to work on clothing my dwarves a little better. lol.

Oh, and Ragnar is immodest.  )

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

((To be perfectly honest... I have no idea what to make of this one. I don't know where that zombie cave bear is. All chasm undead and underground lake undead have been dispatched to the afterlife. (again) And we haven't had dwarven ale for years. Much less forbidden dwarven ale. Mmmm... it just sounds better that way.

In any case, this is an undead bear after a true dwarven spirit. Once found it shall be obtained for arena entertainment. I'll even drop barrels of alcohol down to it from time to time.

Cause apparently it seems to like that sort of thing.))

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Time seemed to slow down for the dwarf as she fell, an eerie sense of awareness filled her. Awareness and exhaustion. As she fell she couldn't help but see the insectoid wrestlers crowded around her, three of them, their pale tan chitin reflecting dully the rays of the sun. One of them was already crouched, preparing to spring at her and she made a mental note to bring her shield up to block as her mind continued to spin.

Before she hit she saw Paulus dealing with a small crowd of insectoids of his own. The bug ambushes had become more serious of late, with two or even three groups attacking in concert. Had the bugs been more intelligent Fre might have called them sieges. Paulus seemed to be fending them off well enough but the continual attacks were clearly wearing him down as well. It was hard to swing a hammer when you had to throw off two or three creatures your size first in order to swing properly.

Nearby she heard some buzzing and saw a dragonfly hovering a few dozen feet away, oblivious to the struggle for life and death so nearby.

She saw the insectoid spring, it's blade-like appendage whipping  out of it's arm as it descended.

Fre raised her shield to block the blow, only to realize that her body simply failed to respond. Only then did it occur to her that the injuries she had sustained were more serious than she had thought. The insectoid came down upon her with some force and she felt a brief pain in her neck.

Just a scratch then, but she was finding it difficult to breathe with the insect on top of her. Her good arm struggled to rise but another insectoid was pinning it down. She looked over to throw it off only to find that her hammer arm was unencumbered.

A cloud covered the sun briefly at that moment and she suddenly shivered, despite the summer heat.

It was then that she saw a figure, pale and graceful approaching from where Paulus had been fighting. In the figure's hand was held out Fre's old crossbow and slight smile graced her lips, words being spoken too softly for the dwarf to hear. She knew that figure then and what it meant. It seemed unfortunate to her then that she had wasted all those years of her life tormented by her dreams and fears of elves and demons when, in the end, her downfall had been caused by little more than an overgrown insect.

Fre's breath escaped her lips, frosting the air in front of her face as her sight traveled upward through the mist.

It struck her as funny that the sky was that particular shade of blue, but mostly, it seemed strange to her that she found that particular thought amusing in the first place.

And then the mists closed off all sight but the goddess holding the crossbow. Fre stood, suddenly unimpeded, and raising her chin high shook her head at  the figure before turning her back and walking away.

Had she looked back she would have noticed that the cloaked figure was no longer even there.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

The two dwarves at the base of the ramp stood utterly still and resolute. Both had their eyes closed, though for very different reasons. The one sought solace in memories, the other solace in darkness.

Of course neither was speaking to the other one.

After Fre's death and burial Ragnar had quietly left mining duties and armed herself with an axe, like those she has wielded in the past. Her armor was not extraordinary but solid and steel, decorated in the bones of the clans enemies. That alone would have given most living enemies pause. Or at least any rational enemies.

She had quietly left the safe dark of their caverns for the bright world above. Paulus stood there alone at the base of the ramp when she had arrived and neither spoke as Ragnar took the post of her fallen friend. Had Ragnar known at that moment how little her friend cared for companionship at that time she might have left the Hound to his grieving. Instead the pair stood together, and yet their thoughts were vast distances apart from each other.

One of the guard-bears suddenly reared up to their south and let out a fierce bellow, swatting out at something. Dwarven eyes snapped open only to find weapons already in hand. The pair launched themselves into their foes with such a ferocious abandon and blatant disregard that their opponents had but a moment to be stunned before carapace gave way to hammer and axe. One of the insectoids stood with what appeared to be a guard of honor around it and Paulus launched himself into them and three went down in a tangle of legs, arms, chitinous blades and antennae, falling into the dry pool.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Ragnar hefted her axe and considered the bug for a moment before darting out, her axe coming across in front of her in a low scything motion. The insectoid looked to dodge and almost succeeded, except for a vicious twist Ragnar brought to bear that curved the arc of the axe inwards at the last moment, chopping into a wing and severing it. Off balance the bug fought defensively, slashing out almost wildly as the dwarf stalked it down and whittled away at it with brutal efficiency until it lay lifeless at her feet in multiple pieces.

Other insectoids were still visible and the dwarf charged, nearly running over Paulus as he stood, brushing off the dirt and wiping the ichor out of his eyes. The creatures stood little chance after that and minutes later the pair was standing again at the ramp, quiet rapidly enfolding the surroundings again.

Ragnar managed a quick smile and commented at no one in particular "Aye, that's more like it. Like old times dat was."

Long moments passed before a husky voice responded.

"Aye. Almost. ... Almost..."



*Ragnar took joy in slaughter recently*
*Paulus took joy in slaughter recently*

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

The debate in the Bold Anvil had been going for some time when Led had finally had enough and walked out. The news the traders had brought had been very disconcerting. It hadn't helped that nearly five years had passed since any outside word from the mountainhome had reached the isolated fortress. This of all things wasn't quite what they had expected.

I mean, even Nist Akath had received migrants. Oddbodd spoke of the Waterbore he'd worked on claiming dozens of lives and they'd received migrants. So it seemed strange that here, where perhaps only a dozen dwarves, mostly caravan guards, had died that such trepidation should be experienced.



Led could think of no possible explanation of why migrants would fear this place, short of the hundred foot high entrance in the shape of a skull.

And their soldiers being armored in the bones of the deceased.

And the mountain being a terrifying wilderness full of the undead.

But short of those things it was a virtual paradise. Led ensured that the dwarves had ample food and drink, plenty of work, they had amassed a sizeable treasure hoard for special projects, prospects for military careers and even pet bears and spiders.

What wasn't to like?

Sure, dwarves died from time to time, but where didn't they?

And then as he was walking along the corridor a thought occurred to him that stopped him in his tracks. A thought so perfectly absurd that it fit perfectly with the problem. The nobility of Shieldhelm had been wanting to discourage immigration to prevent their growth and prosperity hadn't they? What better way than to spread tales of the wholesale slaughter of citizens in the fortress. Citizens with perfectly good and true dwarven names.

Citizens whose record existed but had never been seen in light of day.

"Citizens" who were undead and had been named by the dwarves of the fortress and were then dispatched during the cleansing of the Crack.

Like I said, it was utterly ridiculous. And it fit perfectly. Led couldn't help but laugh histerically as he went to go and tell the Hound his theory and jokingly blame him for all their immigration woes.

((Seriously, that's my theory why I haven't gotten migrants in nearly 15 years. That and our liason dying, but the migrant issue was long before his death.))

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

The sound of steel rasping across stone was audible enough for someone to have followed the Hound as he descended into the darkness of the Crack, but few could have matched his intimate knowledge of the place, and fewer still could have traversed it in darkness as he did. They'd been at Geshud Osod for years now, and he'd spent the better part of five years cleansing the place and carving out paths. It felt like home to him, despite the perpetual chill around him. He carried a lantern in one hand though it was not lit. His right hand trailed along the wall, touching it softly as recognition flooded through him after passing this or the other feature, guiding him along. He'd passed Thesaurusaurus at the upper crossway as the dwarf carried a carved skull totem to the grave of Der Kartoffel, a fitting tribute, he supposed.

Finally Paulus arrived at his location and lit the lamp, letting the candlelight play over the ornate coffin, the anvils set at the cardinal directions and the four gold statues reverencing and commemorating the life of his friend, Fre. He sat himself down against the far wall and relaxed in the silence, feeling the vibration of stone around him.



After a time his voice filled the silence like the light of the candle that illuminated the dark of the tomb.

"Wish you were still here Fre. It's just not quite the same without you. Just Ragnar and me left now. So many have now walked your path. Steele I suppose was just the first. Lost count when Dorenemal crumbled, and who knows how many more in the crossing. And for what? I wonder sometimes.

We made a name for ourselves, by our sweat and by our blood. Our name, our clan is now known, and, in certain quarters, respected. So why should I be here... no, never mind. Led is family too. He remembers Dorenemal; he was there. There with me in prison, when I was hammered and broken. Others have followed us, followed me. To Onol Lened, and from it. And now to Geshud Osod. Fortress of bones indeed.

Sometimes I feel like little more than bones myself. Half dead and numbly going through the motions of living.

Perhaps I've just been sober too long. Too many long patrols. Too little interaction. Here I'm just the Hound. Few remember that I used to be a person, a dwarf, a friend. I've got no family left, except for Scott and he's in a different class now with his noble-blooded wife.

The dwarves here I guess are my family. That's why I do what I do. Why I wake up every day.

You were my family...





I'm so tired."

The light lasted much longer before it too succumbed to the dark and the silence that surrounded it.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Erith looked carefully at the chunk of stone in her hands from the ruddy glow of the mining lantern behind her. Spitting on it she brought it into the light and began rubbing the stone with her dirty thumb until a faint purple glow was visible. Amethyst.

She tucked the stone into her pouch and looked at the was she was working on once more.

Were there more gemstones buried within?

These exploratory mining trips of hers were almost always productive and the Crack itself made the job easier, since travel along the fissure was straightforward and simple, now that no undead plagued the area.

Thoughts of buried riches and gleaming gems filled her mind as her pick struck stone again and again. The wall crumbled before her quickly, breaking off in useable chunks with surprising rapidity. And then suddenly the wall fell forward instead of back and a black gaping hole reached out to her with it's stale air.

She blinked.

That was unexpected. She stuck her head in and found herself on the side of a massive bottomless pit. Unholy creakings and shufflings filled the space and her skin suddenly crawled with revulsion as she realized that the place was likely filled with further undead. How many more such places filled these mountains.

It is no wonder they were considered evil. Terrifying even, since undead from centuries and millenia past literally flowed out of the cracks in the earth like an ooze.

She turned and made her way quickly back to alert the others and soon the majority of the fortress was on their way to explore her new find. And to assist with the undead.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

((I've found that cave bear that was drinking all my forbidden alcohol somehow. Quantum mechanics appears alive and well in the game since somehow the bear managed to drink the alcohol through solid rock. I blame some sort of alcohol tunneling phenomenon. Speaking of said bear... I now have it in a cage and will shortly begin setting up the Arena proper and finish the interior of the temple of Mondul.

The cleansing of the pit was quick compared to the crack. Only two clusters of Zombie cave swallowmen were there and all were on shelves instead of flying in the open. Multiple civilians went dashing in to recover bones and whatnot and I had them wrestle several of the lesser undead to pieces.

Oh, screenie is of post cleansing and is a good Oddbodd update.))

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Spring - 43

I see my end. Our end.

It is inevitable.

My lord assures me of this, as does my lady.

They whisper to me in my dreams now, speaking of death.

When my wife was taken from us I turned to them for comfort and understanding, not knowing. I came here because I believed. I had hope that we could accomplish something significant.

I know now that was folly. I was wrong.

I turned to them for comfort, not understanding that knowing would take more strength than I often feel I have.

When my son, Led, was taken from us I began to understand. The dead have peace. We mourn. But not for the dead. We mourn for the living. We mourn for what could have been. We mourn for what we feel should have been.

These past decades have weighed on me. Given me time to think and reflect that a more substantive life would never have permitted. We, our fortress, is dying.

We were never numerous, we believers in Mondul. When we left it was to find a place where we could learn and grow in peace, away from the torments and misapprehension of those that believed differently. Or so I thought. I see now, that we have come here, not to live.

We have come here to die.

When my son, Mosus, was taken from me today I understood. I turned to my gods with knowledge, and the comfort that understanding brings.

My fellows would have delayed this loss if they could have. I know this. We do not hasten to this next life. But it calls for us whether we wish it or no.

The Hound himself nearly joined the others this past week.

We came here to die. Let me explain. The wall continues to grow, but we needed more granite for the facings and sought it in the granite fields to the north, searching for ore and gems. What we found was an underground river, sealed since time immemorial. The Hound set out to start clearing the undead from the river. I have seen the corpses. Giant toads, lizardmen, Cave crocodiles fifteen feet long. All abominations.

During the fighting he fell in and was nearly killed by a crocodile as he fought in the water with the undead. In the end they were beaten, but he was sorely wounded where the undead beast bit him around the waist. They had to pry his armor out of his wounds with pliers.

And so, he was not there to guard the entrance when the Hunter went after a pack of insectoids that nearly undid her as well. It was the second pack, lying in ambush that took my son from me. When she beckons we must answer the call. One way or another.

My wife was taken from me. My sons.

I cannot but weep for myself and my loss. But I think of the joy of a mother at speaking with her son again. At the joy of brothers, reunited once more.

I long to be with them again.

I know it is coming, and I look forward to it.

I have come here, to die.

Our fortress now numbers but sixteen. No new migrants come. For fear of these lands. For fear of us. We are dwindling. I only hope that we have time to finish our work before our call comes. We are dying. It is inevitable.

I see our end. My end.


And I rejoice in it.

(Written in the hand of Thesaurusaurus)

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[ArchAIngel]

Could you post a link to the mod that you are using? It looks very interesting.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

You should be able to check the DF Modding section of the forum for Captain Mayday's updated but last I saw this was the most recent version.

http://www.bay12forums.com/smf/index.php?topic=61301.msg1393758#msg1393758

I typed in Legendary lands in the DF Modding forum to get this.

[ArchAIngel]

Thanks, trying to embark on one of those goblin forts, like the first group here did. How did you do that?