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[Fortis]

A damaged page is found. It was written by Fortis, as the handwriting matched, but the date was lost.

   …moment the alarm went out, I rushed to the courtyard to retrieve the children. I gathered them inside just as the first of the humans came into view. I never thought I’d be terrified of one of their beardless faces, but the beasts that they rode! They came mounted on huge horses, covered in armor carved with terrifying imagery. Strife ran past, holding his trusty crossbow, the great doors clanging shut behind him. I gathered my children into our room with several other civilians and children. My dear Elrith had a long chisel in her hands, and I gripped my shovel. We promised ourselves that if any of those foul humans came looking for our children, we would sacrifice them to Armok. The din of battle reverberated though the walls…

   …At last, the humans have been been driven off. I feared that many a grave would be filled today. Praise be to the gods, not one of our number was killed. And the humans? They flee in terror and gut themselves upon our traps. Even now, the last one of the cursed giants was executed by the archers. Good riddance, may he suffer in the deepest bowels of…

   …Such a magnificent piece of crafting! I have never seen such a beautiful weapon. The crossbow that Strife now bore was just as much a masterpiece of art as it was of war. But there was more to it than just beauty, there seemed to be some enchantment upon it. Strife loaned it to me, and under his guidance I fired off a bone bolt in the archery range. Despite my woeful ineptitude with such weapons, the bone bolt struck the center of the target, and struck with enough force to send fragments of bone flying everywhere. If the fey madness produced more such badly needed weapons, I would speak more highly of it. But I have no more time to marvel. The fields are soaked in blood, and need to be rinsed off before I can plant any more seeds. Perhaps the gods might see fit to send a rain to wash away the surface fields. Else I’m am going to wear out my boots hauling buckets to and from the well.

[Strife26]

Strife needs some diologe I think.

"Hello Human. This is an artifact crossbow. If I fire it correctly, it'll mangle both lungs and your heart. I don't know if I've fired four or five bolts, so, the question is, do you know that I grabbed a stack of six? Toodles."

EDIT: I've improved it a tad bit:
"I know what you're thinking- "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But, being this is an artifact crossbow, the most powerful weapon in the world and would cripple your heart and both lungs in one shot, you've got to ask yourself one question: Are you aware that I grabbed a stack of 6? Toodles."

Epic writting, by the way.

[JacobGreyson]

Updates will be somewhat sporadic for a while. Too much work, not enough free time.

[JacobGreyson]

--From the journal of the Unknown Miner
Again I have the dream. At first, it was sporadic. Only once in the fifth year did I dream of that sight. Now, it is almost every night. In my dreams, I see steel. Spikes of steel, tall enough to pierce the very sky, thrust down like the spears of an angry god, right into the bones of the world. Aegar tells me not to worry, but I cannot keep my worries silent.
Again, my stoneken has set us to veins of platinum or better. It is the better which has me confused. We found an odd, fibrous stone. Mined from the walls, it was light, lighter even than the pockets of Aluminum which abound in this climate, and blue. I do not know what its nature is, as I've ne'er seen it in my long career. Bastilla, lover to our most senior soldier, believes it adamantium, but I do not believe it. Adamantium is less... fluffy. Still, it shares many qualities.
Of course, the disposition of the vein in which I found it makes it seem that it was not a vein, per say. The Cataclysm did more than sunder the nations. When the power of all magic was forceably ripped from the world, it sent the continents into hysteric motion. There was no land in all the world that did not feel the tremble of magic's excision. More and more, I believe that this place was a site of some significance to what Precursors ruled this land, before the land was tossed asunder by the Cataclysm. That such a pipe would be buried indicates that it was not of Elvish make, as we had feared, but something else. The Precursor race still eludes us.
What does not is the spikes. Always, I see four, standing arrogantly against the sky, immobile even as the ground shifts around them. I see them stand against the wash of the sea. The crush of the mountains. And then I see them here. In this valley. But they are not visible in this valley. Do they not reach the surface, here? Is this land too high?
I must dig deeper. They are here. Those pillars to the heart of the world mean something. I know, because Aegar has spoken of them in passing. So too have Amost and Baugur and Bomrek and all the rest who have been overtaken by the spirit, but some are reticent. I do not claim to know their significance, but I know that I have to find them. Flint thinks me mad, but I cannot relent. It is somewhere, this site. At least I have Aegar to lean on. Now, more than ever, since I've decided to wed him.
Some day. Some day I will take my pick and swing to the east. But not yet. It seems that the humans have come back, contrite and apologetic, but offering little of value. If only the hadn't become enraged when their liason was murdered by the green horde outside our doors. This burden is becoming heavier every day. Sometimes, I feel as though this aluminum earing will tear off my head by its weight.

[Strife26]

Is it Admantine?

[JacobGreyson]

Events of 6/21/1820
*as recorded by Helgird Medve*

(Sudden pan in)
Urist panted deeply, holding a silken rag to a bleeding wound on his head. He glanced around the room, and the camera did likewise. Wendt was being moved onto a pallet. He smoked slightly, and not out the mouth or nose. Likot was tending to the soldier.
"What the hell was that?" Urist asked quietly, straining to catch his breath.
"I don't know," Helgird admitted. "It shouldn't have caved in like that."
"I wasn't talking about the cave in. I was talking about that sound."
"Oh," Helgird said. The camera dropped toward the floor for a long moment. "I think this is the only camera left."
"What happened to the spare. And the backup?" Likot asked.
"Wendt cut one in half with that idiotic sword of his, and the other one was with my things when part of the mountain tried to land on us. This is the only one left."
The camera snapped back up. Urist rose painfully from his squat and ran his hands along the walls. "I don't know where we are," he said quietly.
Likot looked to him in worry. "We can't have gotten too far. Sebshoskeshan isn't that big of a place."
Urist shook his head. "No. No, I've been to every part of this stone-city that wasn't buried under milennia of rubble. I've never seen this."
"Can we get back?" Helgird asked. Urist shook his head.
"We are not miners."
"Imagine such a day," Likot muttered.
"Enough of that," Urist said. "We cannot go back, so it is a matter of going forward. There is good air ahead, which means that there must be a way to the surface or back to the city proper."
"What do we do about Wendt?" Likot asked.
"We bring him with us."
Likot gathers up the semi-conscious soldier and the four begin stumbling through the halls. As they walk, Urist drags his fingers along one wall. At one point, he stops, turns and faces the wall.
"Strange."
"Excuse me?" Helgird asked.
"Feel this," Urist pressed Helgird's unoccupied hand against the stone. It was smooth. Smoother than the finest silk, smoother than masterfully cut glass. And it was cold. It was beyond cold. It was so cold it began to burn with pain. Helgird pulled her hand back with a yelp. Urist turned. "This is a Precursor artifact."
"What?" Likot asked.
"Like the precursor pipe under the Old Stockpile. Stone worked with expert precision. Look at this," Urist leaned close. He pulled a knife from his belt and ran it tip first along the surface until it caught and stuttered. "There is an edge. These are stone blocks, cut so precisely that in the dark one cannot see the edge between them. This was a manufacted structure at some point in the distant past."
"What could it have been?"
"Cold storage? Perhaps if we burst down this wall, we would find a still-working meat locker."
Likot scoffed. All eye turned to him. "Why would they need to make a freezer? The mountain is cold enough to freeze the tits off a sasquatch."
"Perhaps, before the Cataclysm, this was not the case," Urist said. After a moment more, looking at that wall, he continued foward into the black. The others followed.
"Did you understand what that voice was saying?" Helgird asked.
"Voice? I heard a noise, not a voice," Urist said quietly.
"It sounded like a voice to me," Helgird said.
Urist shook his head. "We are alone in Sebshoskeshan. Nothing alive remains that we did not bring here ourselves."
"This place is teeming with undead fishmen and imps," Likot pointed out.
"Exactly. Nothing alive."
"What is that?" Helgird asked, pointing ahead.
"Ah. A stairwell. An easy ascent will return us to our kin," Urist said. He took the first step onto the stairs, then paused. "Did you feel that?"
"The wind," Helgird said.
Likot glanced about. "There ought be no wind here. We're hundreds of cubits under ground!"
As they paused, the wind picked up in strength, until it buffetted the clothes against the group. Finally, it ended with a loud pop and a flash of green-blue light. The Dwarves stumbled briefly, their eyes not acclimated to the sudden change of darkness-to-light-to-darkness.
"What was this?" Wendt asked, words slurring.
"Wendt, you are able?" Urist asked. Wendt wobbled, but nodded his assent. "I do not know. We are close to returning to our camp. Come, if you can stand unhelped."
The group ascended, coming out near the back of the Nickle Run. Originally the construction path for the Waterworks, the Nickle Run became the primary path by which the mayor's fixation on nickle-silver could be sate. It was also a direct path to the workshops, and beyond them, the camp. Urist shouted ahead that they were hurt. Silence came back. The group cast worried glances amongst themselves.
"They should have heard us," Helgird said.
"We should be able to hear them," Likot corrected. "We are not silent even with the late hour."
Urist looked between them, then snatched Wendt's rifle (against Wendt's groggy protest) and began to run down that hall as fast as his dwarven legs could carry him. Helgird, burdened by the camera, was forced to trail behind. When she finally did catch up Urist, she found him on his knees, staring at the camp. Or, where the camp should have been.
"I don't understand," Urist muttered. The doors to the bedchambers seemed to have been forcably ripped from hinges and crushed into chunks. The beds which were not ashes were split in twain and thrown about. There was no blood, but paper and devices littered the floor.
Likot reached Urist next. "This is... I don't understand. Look at that," he pointed at where they had erected a mess. "All of our food and preparatory devices are gone. This did not happen suddenly."
"What do you mean?"
"They had time to leave. Not much, but time," Helgird added. "What happened here?"
"We are alone," Urist said. With a sigh, he rose, and set out in search of a complete bed. Helgird looked back at Likot.
"What?" Likot asked. "I'm only here to pad my application to grad-school. You deal with him."

[JacobGreyson]

--The others think me mad for continuing this work in light of our new plight, but I must do something to occupy my mind. I am not Likot, who now rocks in his room at all hours, his mind effectively snapped. Only Wendt and Helgird now look to our combined wellbeing. And I have located more of the Unknown Miner's account.

Just when the weight seemed poised to crush me, some relief. Only five days past I had my first child, and the added burden of trying to lead this civilization atop all of my duties as a parent have smothered me. Aegar did what he could, but it is I who must carry this infant through all of his fickle moods and illnesses. With this child, our numbers totaled 55, of which, almost half are children under the age of 12 years. Whilst I was attempting to get some sleep, this wailing infant on my back, the people of Mireflames had an election. The numbers were strongly in favor of replacing me as mayor. If I were a jealous or ambitious dwarf, I would have taken this as some personal slight, but I am not a noble. No matter what my parents would like me to think.
The new mayor is Amost, wife of Flint and the premier weapon-maker in our community. Since she was part of the straggling group which crawled out of the ashes of our former home, it came as no surprise that she had endeared herself more to the people than I did. I was always digging, counting, or having people shout at me. But now, that last duty is hers, and she is welcome to it. She took the trinket of authority in the morning, and good riddance.
With the community straining at the seams in numbers of children, but otherwise spartan and drab, I have commissioned my husband to engrave the walls and hallways of the town. Our mason has taken the huge chunks of Platinum we have unearthed in the south and made a series of statues of them. One of which was a masterpiece of such beauty and splendor, but he was unsatisfied with it. When Aegar finished with his engraving, the mason bade him encrust it with ornamental and precious stones. Aegar began doing so, and even commissioned with Amost to import every gem that they could spare trade-goods to acquire. Even still, The Revoked World stands four times the height of a Dwarf, its base seven cubits to a side. When it is complete, my husband says, it will be a gem-based recreation of the face of the known world, with a leitmotif running around the base. I am anxious to see the final result. We need only wait until next autumn for the thick-beards to return with the copious amounts of gems that this will require.
The militia (if it can even be called a militia at this point) has also demanded that the firing grounds be converted into an ad hoc execution ground. While the targets will remain, mostly it's purpose will be to eliminate prisoners of war. And we have no few of those, with the sneaking green skins that steal into our home and try to abduct our children from their beds. After the death of Fortis' little girl, we take no chances.

--the ink color changes here. Probably writ on a different day.

A thick-beard came stumbling into Murder Pass this evening. She was bleeding fairly profusely, and was greatly relieved when Likot carried him over the traps and to the safety of a bedroom. This dwarf had the tattooes of a beasttamer, and a her scourge bore the mark of the Construct of Prices. Since she was not insensible, I asked her where-from and why she had come here. She claimed that she had been taken prisoner by the green menace when the Construct fell. Of all those in the Mountainhome, only she had an ability the Goblin lacked, and and had any interest in acquiring. Four eight years, she worked as a tamer and keeper of beakdogs and tentacle demons. She began weeping while describing the latter. There is a story there I feel would be damaging to bring up. She escaped when her transport was attacked by Men, not far from where our once-companion was taken by brutes. It was quite possible it was the work of the same group. After that, she fought her way into the swamp, where she, in her weakened state, was set upon by skeletal Marmots, goats, and a giant Eagle. She won free, but took wounds. Thus, she staggered into our holds, following the warmth under her feet and hoping even for a simple cave.
While she rests of her wounds, Aegar and I are preparing this poor woman a place to stay, a chamber wonderous in its quality to make the long and brutal torment she suffered ebb away. When she regains her strength, since we have no beasts in need of taming, she will work with the furnace-operators.
I feel a tug. I should go east.
I know I should go east, but... No. I have no excuses. The responsibility or Mireflames is on Amost now. I can dig. I need to dig. East.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Golly, I didn't realise I was dwarfed.
Thanks.

[Fortis]

(Did I loose another child?!)

[JacobGreyson]

Only the one. She's just been dead for a while, now. Remember when the goblins came a-killin?

[Solifuge]

This story is absolutely fantastic... I love the feeling of tension and isolation, and the character you breathe into regular DF situations. I am utterly intrigued by the story of the cataclysm, the nature of the ancient ruins, and the precursors.... I love the suspense, and will definitely keep track as this tale unfolds!

Also, I'd like the next unclaimed immigrant to meander into Mireflames, whatever the profession / social position: Name: Farley/Faraleigh depending on whether they are male or female.

[JacobGreyson]

There are no, and will be no, immigrants. I've set the Pop Cap to 20, and the fort now has sixty living there. You can pick from the huge array of people not yet chosen, many of whom are Legendary Artificers.

[Solifuge]

I meant Nobles and such, as in the case of the Dungeon Master, but I'd gladly snag an existing dwarf, preferably one who hasn't made an artifact yet, or perhaps the next kid born.

[JacobGreyson]

*Recorded by Urist, 6/23/1820*

"I can't afford to tell the others. This might just break their spirits. I was wandering the Silk Road when I found a rifle near some bones. It was covered in a fine layer of dust, as though it had been long abandoned. It seemed still in working order, so I gathered it up and continued north. As I walked, I felt a wind press against my skin and ruffle my hair. I looked to and fro but could see nothing which would cast such wind. The Silk Road is one of the lower roads in this city. Then, I beheld a dim flash of blue-green light from ahead. I proceeded, rifle at the ready, and found myself in a place I didn't expect to be. The stone, once shist, had given way to gabbro. I took a step back. There was a blue-green flash and a pop behind me. Experimenting, I found each time I crossed that divide between shist and gabbro, the pop and flash repeated. Intrigued, but not wishing to become lost, I continued north to the end of the Silk Road.
But I wasn't on the Silk Road anymore. My feet crunched on grains of platinum. I had somehow arrived at the end of the Platinum Road, which was far,far to the south. Now somewhat frightened, I ascended past the Hall of Champions and returned to the area of the Old Stockpile. However, under the Precursor Pipe, I beheld a foul stench, and a miasma was rising. There, rotting under the heat of the pipe overhead, was an Intruder. It's skin had sloughed and its body was quite a foul sight to behold. Seeing an Intruder here, in this state, was a shock. This could not have been dead longer than a week. What is the matter with these Intruders? Whence do they come? Why?
But that is not what strains my spirit. On its person, I located another of those smooth, softstones which displayed the repeating noise when taken from the last. This one, though, showed a moving picture, similar to if this were projected. What manner of projection was taking place, I cannot think to know. But it's subject matter was chilling.

Murged appeared, bleeding somewhat. She glanced about, before talking at a whisper. "Several of the others are dead. The Intruders came in numbers equalling our own. We didn't have our rifles at hand, and they slew us easily as one would a puppy."
Murged rose, and the view shifted to several of the others of Urist's expidition. "I've gathered those who remain and taken us back into the Tower of Steel. Our newly enspirited clothier is devising a way to reach the bottom of the tower, where we might find some peace against the..."
The tape suddenly switches to Murged again, this time with her being in good health and sitting in a still functioning camp. "...of his place, and gathered his materiels. Like those who came before him, when he emerged, he brought this." Murged holds up a rope made of a hundred tiny silken braids. "Since then, he has been quiet."
Murged's face then dropped a bit. "And still no word from Urist, Wendt, Likot and Helgird," she sighed. "I've told the others to call off the search. As much as I would like to believe my friends are alive, after five months, they can be nothing but dead. Sebshoskeshan is not so large a place as one can easily become lost. May the Iron Blooded have mercy on me for this betrayal, even if all sense tells me they are dead. We must endeavor to continue without them. Perhaps, if this GODSDAMNED VOLCANO WILL STOP ERUPTING, we can get some aid and send back for real trackers. At the moment... I just don't know. I just... don't... know."

"It was not five months which cradled us in the lower water-works. Less even than five hours. They thought that we had died, and searched for us. And then they gave up. Five months. It doesn't seem possible. No, patently impossible. The dust upon the rifle must have accumulated there over at least a year. But where then did Murged go? I have been to the Tower of Steel and no sign is there of them. And why was the recording on the personal effects of an Intruder?"
"What are you doing there, Urist?" Helgird's voice comes from outside the camera shot. Urist shoots to his feet, dumping the camera from his lap. It spins, and falls.
"Oh, Fu..."
The recording ends.

[Jim Groovester]

JacobGreyson, your story is awesome, and I now wish to claim a dwarf. Since I can't figure out what kind of dwarf to request, I'll just reuse one from another community fort that went nowhere. Anyways,

Name: Kirea
Gender: Female
Profession: Witch (Herbalist/Cook/Brewer)
Description: The last in a long line of failed mystics and witches, she hopes to preserve her art at Sebshoskeshan and perhaps find some success there as well.

Since you've got a pretty firm grip on the story, edit my request as you feel like until it fits with what you have in mind.

I almost wish I could claim a dwarf from the archeological expedition, since that part is way cooler than the fortress account.