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@#&*(*@((#**$%&(*_!(#()&&()!>)@<>!)_)*(@)(@!*!<@!)_(@!<>!!()*(@)(*)(_((#**)!+)<><!@)(#<>!)_()!*$)&*%(*_!(#()@<>!)_($(*)(_((#**$%)!>!<@!)_(@!<>!!()*)*%_(!@_)!@>?!_(!)*$_()_)!file corrupted. Loading backup. an race. Of course, their technology advanced. How could it not? But it advanced at an incredible rate. They coined a law; technological development would only increase in speed with advancement in time. It was a scant six thousand years from the onset of their history as a cohesive culture until they had the power to destroy the entire planet. But it was not magical power they held: Magic was not yet part of the skein of What Was. It was technology, raw and pure. And it was ruthless. The things they did to each other were deplorable by any standard. Six thousand years from agriculture to control of the forces which bind the universe. It comes as no surprise that the weapons they made could only have one use; unmaking the culture which created them.
Contrary to popular belief, it is extremely easy to destroy a culture. It doesn't even require a lot of firepower or death. But a lot of death does make it work much faster. No, a culture tends to die by degrees. So it was then. Wars, with weapons which would have driven even their father's mad with worry, unleashed with reckless abandon. Without the infrastructure to maintain themselvs, starvation did most of the rest of the work in ending all cohesive cultures and dropping them back into a stone-age lasting millions of years.
And that was the first Cataclysm.

End of line.

[JacobGreyson]

Found scribbled on the edge of a page:
-- They live.

Logem has done what nobody suspected possible. But then, I had a lot to do with that. I confronted Likot about throwing away that unknown intruder when his armor could have been of use to us. We could have melted it down, even! But Likot was adamant that it never be touched. In fact, so insenced was he that I pressed the point that he took away my axe and told me it would not be returned until I could maintain a level head about things. I think he's hiding something. But most people are, these days.
Aegar and Lothor continue building the Tower of Steel. Now, its hight rivals the mountain itself, and it still has far up into the sky to go. Exploring the bottommost levels of the Tower, Kirea located a stash of that blue, fibrous substance. Before, it was too dear to use in any sort of coherent fashion. Now, there was enough to warrent experimentation. It draws into fibers quite spectacularly, and can be spun into a cloth which is softer than silk. Atis is afraid to weave such fabrics, though. I cannot see why; Atis is as fine a clothier as has ever lived, by my estimation. But that is not the stone's only utility. It is light enough to float on water, yet can be made into wafers as hard as steel or harder. True, it takes a lot of finger-splitting work to prepare, but these wafers are quite versatile, by what I've seen made of them. For example, Libash made a statue out of the stone recently. I've never seen its like. Aegar spent the next four months adorning it with every stone and metal we have in Mireflames. Now, it is a beautiful, if unsettling tableau. He calls it "The Bloated Sun".
A few days ago, I was walking the perimeter when I beheld something floating in the lava moat. I fetched a spear to hook it out, since anything which floats on, and is not destroyed by, lava would be of interest to Father and to the various metal and stonecrafters. The first three spears I used were unmade in my attempts, so I had Amost make a proper steel spear that I could hook out the object. It remained that long. When I had it out and quenched, I discovered it to be that intruder's armor. It was intact, if frayed and unmade somewhat by its time in the lava. Unusuable, but inspiring. I showed it to Logem, behind Likot and Father's back. Logem looked it over, and set out to the forges. This morning, I found this armor sitting on the armor rack in the barracks. Fool! It could have been stolen! I quickly took it upon myself. It is splended armor, as heavy as a loaf of bread. Despite it covering as completely as Likot's plate, it was made of a hundred scales, each indigo blue. I tested it by firing a crossbow into my own gut, and was delighted when the masterful steel bolt shattered like glass. I believe only the Ironblooded Himself could do me harm when I wear this suit.
Lately, though, I find myself having strange dreams. Stretches of time repeat themselves. Twice, I saw the coming of the Men to trade, only once awake. Three times, I guarded the gates when our thick-bearded brethren came with their wagon-load of gems for Aegar's works. But... When I dreamed, I dreamed of things which couldn't have happened. A crossbow bolt, fired from the greenskinned menace, slaying little Meng, and then an unspeakably lucky shot killing Likot. Then, another dream, I was guarding the gates instead of Likot, and I felt myself be killed, feathered in the arms and legs, left to bleed to death.
It didn't feel much like a dream. I felt it. I felt the rage and sorrow when I cradled Meng. I felt the cold chill of death. Likot was so angry when he saw the armor I wore. The first two times, at least. The third time, the real time, he was weary and resigned. More and more, Likot spends time with his lover, that once-nun who minds the smelters. There are too many secrets. Secrets between Aegar and the founder's cabal. Secrets between Father and Mother. Secrets between Likot and everybody. There is a pall over the community, quite unlike when the spirit claimed those who lived here. I will have to speak with father. But not before I claim the Bronze Time. That is mine. I will have it. It's just a matter of time.

[JacobGreyson]

Things have not been easy. In fact, complication seems to crop up on a dayly basis here in Sebshoskeshan. Helgird has been out of sorts of late, which meant we had to eat our food as it grows. Likot is still loligagging about, not being of much use to anybody. And I? Well, that camera? That one which I hoped never to be fixed? It is now. Helgird was taken by a mood, similar to the way Likot was when he built that boot. But for her, she took the shattered remnants of the camera, a brick of copper, and some crystal glass and from them, created a masterpiece of cinematographic aparatus. But unlike Likot who was repulsed, or the others I've read about from the past who were ecstatic, she became melancholy. I have had to feed her the last few days. It is untenable, but there is little choice I have in the matter. There are only four of us remaining. I will not have it become three.
Wendt returned. He had been wandering far in the bowels of Mir Sebshoskeshan. He explained that he found something which bore exploring at the head of the Nickle Road, a collapsed section which was at first believed to be a natural, hewn wall, but it was edged by carvings. Nobody embellishes a virgin stone wall. With Wendt at my side and Likot tasked with keeping Helgird from hurting herself (Which, for his sake, he had better damned well succeed in), I investigated that hall. It was as he claimed. There was precious little charge left stored in the Jackhammer but it was enough to dig a serviceable hole. Through,there were more images in the smoothed walls. Beyond that, a stairwell. And at the top of this, there were doors, sealed so tightly that the only way through them was to have Wendt hack at them with the Memo Gidur Vush until they buckled. A belch of air rushed past us, into the room, pulling the doors out their frames. Within, I finally found it. The Library at Sebshoskeshan. Ten thousand books, penned by inhabitants of the city or recovered from outside sources from the Goblin Fall and earlier, and some even which survived the Cataclysm. Well, presumably. I have not found anything so old as yet. I have not yet been to the upper floor of the Library, but some of the texts which I have already prerused paint an... unpleasant picture of life in the time of Miref Sebshoskeshan. Especially in areas which were not surrounded by undead parked next to a volcano and cold as the Pit 10 months of the year. It makes me wonder how civilization could have continued at all. Then, I found another of those smooth devices, similar to one held by an Intruder. This one held a large panel of argot script, with notes in Vaasi around it. Translating the Vaasi, I beheld that it was a sort of... I do not know how to properly explain it. Prophecy? History? I don't think there is a word in my language for what it is. But it was chilling. It spoke of cataclysms, innumerable in scope. It spoke of the passing of years beyond this language's capacity of counting, thousands of millions. It spoke of a bloated sun, of one race living among the ashes. Alone. It spoke of the end of all things.
I fear. I am not ashamed of this. There is some slow poison in these words which numbs my soul as I read them, but I cannot look away. It is incomplete, and many times, I find myself guessing at a meaning of a word hear and there and now and then, but even if I am less than half incorrect, what I have learned... I fear I shall never sleep bereft of nightmares again as long as I live.
What tormented soul created this horrible, bleak tableau? It was not in the hand of Kirea, for hers was much more elegant, and more contemporary. This is something alien, obviously made by alien hands and spoken by alien tongue. The historian in me wants to find this creature, to ask of it 'more!'. But the Dwarf in me... The dwarf in me wants to strike it down with a hail of bullets, to end its blasphemy once and for all. Unfortunately, or perhaps mercifully, the device ceased functioning one morning, and there was naught I could do to return it to life. I had spent a week transfixed. I am starving, parched almost to dehydration, tired beyond reason. I should rest.
I just fear what will greet me when I dream.

[Lord Dullard]

Oh dear. The dwarves aren't going to unearth Cthulhu, are they? 

This story keeps getting better and better. Keep it up!

[Boksi]

Hmmph... Curiosity killed the cat. And I feel very curious about all of this right now. Oh dear.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

The writing on this metal plate, prised from the back of a similar plate, is somewhat shakier than before, as if the writer had seen something truly unsettling.
I scribe this entry into the metal with shaking hands. More of the Adamant has been mined, and a statue was created from the raw stone, if it is indeed a stone. I was adorning it with various metals and stones, in complex geometric patterns, an activity I enjoy, when I saw a pattern in it that disturbed me. I dare not write it down, save for this. A bloated Sun, hanging ruddy and low.

I must take my mind from this, it is a distraction. Lothor is proving adequate in the construction of the tower. I am worried about strong winds up there, not for the tower, but for the workers.

[JacobGreyson]

--Exploring the upper vestibules of the library, I found more of the sleek objects. They are, however, inactive. I should talk to Helgird about finding some way to restore them. Helgird! Damn!

Aegar seems out of sorts today. I asked him what was the matter, and he told me frankly that his wife seemed in a mood. I made a quip that she was probably pregnant again, but he said no. This was a different sort of thing. She was anxious, confused. She kept referring to somebody I've never seen. She keeps asking whatever became of Fath. I told her I would look into it, but since the people of this town pretty much do whatever they want whenever they want to, Fath could be just about anywhere. I'm fairly sure she wasn't talking about her children. They are at her sides pretty much every hour of the day.
I should put aside time to scribe more frequently. Since the last update, we have been beset by the green-skinned menace again, this time intent on creeping in and stealing our children. Those who did brave Murder Pass found themselves under the blade of Wadmoistness the Bronze Time, and then split like logs by it in the shortly thereafter. What is distressing is just how often these child-snatchers have come in the last year. They seem to be redoubling their efforts. For what, I wonder? The Goblin have always sought our destruction, since the demons took their place at the Goblin's head and stripped them of their civilization. Have they taken a different path? Or is this some other gambit?
A woman has fallen from the Tower of Steel. Likot and I were tasked with finding who was responsible for this. It was not the wind, for wind is low this season. The woman landed on the entry way, which was a painful landing, and a breaker of bones, but she survived. It was the first time I was actually went into the upper floors of the Tower. At first, I was confounded by the floor plan. It seemed a bit off. Only three of the rooms are the same size and shape, all the others are quite irregular. Just wandering as Likot talked to others working with her, I was struck with a notion. I began pacing the lengths of the rooms, the walls connecting them, and sketching out what I found. The walls... they formed that sigil. The symbol on Aegar's wall was a floorplan. Why was he so afraid of this. This was hardly some security risk or theological dark truth; it was construction. Still, I dared not mention it to the fellow when we spoke. He had just calmed down from my seeing it in the first place. I don't want to think how he would react if I knew what it meant.
I have felt pursued the last few weeks. I do not know how to explain it. Every time I pass through some parts of Mireflames, like the main atrium or the stockpiles, I sense someone watching. I have been checking and rechecking the entrances (as there is now more than one way to get into the town) and the places I felt it myself, but I never actually find anything. It would be frustrating if I weren't so unsettling. Until... Well, there was one time, I thought I heard something clattering down the stairwell into the Dark Forest. I was already right there, and I found an unusual object, sleek and smooth lying in the mud. It was quite unlike anything I've seen before. I keep it now on my person. But for the moment, my mind is on little sister Kirea, who is finally a woman and of age. I should tell her of my concerns. She is more attuned to matters spiritual than I, after all.

[Error Message]

Begin retrieval.
...
File retrieved.

Decrypting.
...
File corrupted.

Incomplete file error. Reintegration in process. Please wait. This process could take several days.

Partial file retrieved. View? Y/N
Y

"Now what?"
"This is it. The only evidence that we existed at all is right here."
"What is going to happen to us?"
"That is something which lies beyond the edge of my knowledge. I do not know."
"...Should we do something?"
"If you feel the need, pray. But I suggest leaving before they find us standing this deep in corpses."

End of File
End of Transmission.
Run reconstitution from the beginning? Y/N
Y

[Jim Groovester]

I see your tricks, Error Message. You're just another instrument to tell the story of Sebshoskeshan!

Nothing gets by me.

Also, it's cool to see Kirea get a notable role within the fortress. Keep up the excellent story, JacobGreyson.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Wooo, scary sigils.

[JacobGreyson]

-- The writing here is blotchy and runny. It seemed that the page was wetted before even I could find and restore it.

I am a failure. As I drank with Vabok and Bastilla, Likot was manning the mouth of Murder Pass. As I believed, there was a massive influx of snatchers for the Goblin cause. I've dealt with my fair share, but with both Vabok and I away from the gates, one of them slipped past. Zefon, the child of Adil the blacksmith, was struck a stunning blow and bagged. We recieved the call in the stores, and rushed up to the surface, but found only a sprinkling of blood, some scuffed earth, and the sounds of shouting in the distance. Why Zefon was daudling about the gates now strikes us as hollow.
A day and a night later, Likot returned to the town. His face was one etched in grief, and he was not accompanied by Zefon. The kidnapper had stolen the child and made good his escape. Now even Likot could not track him. He was gone. Adil has retreated to her room in hysterics, and I have made sure Unib, who has seven children so would know the tract well, would keep her from bringing harm to herself or others. True, it is only one of five children, but the loss of one is still too many. Two years since Baugur's murder, and now this. It could be worse. The places in Father's stories tended toward much higher body-counts in much smaller periods of time.
More problems with Vabok. Still he annoys me to no end. And yet I find myself sleeping in his bed more often than not of late. The others would be scandalized. Well, not the nuns, for they did no other when they came to Mireflames. And not Mother, who gave me that particularly awkward talk, mentioning never that marriage had to precede it. However things are between us, things are getting a little more difficult between us as he now approaches my level of weaponmastery. I can no longer order him around. Which is aggravating.
I write now because I realized how long it had been since I kept a journal. Mostly, I was reminded of that fact because there was a loud, thunderous boom which echoed through the halls. A stink of smoke issued from the Potashery, but noone could locate the source of the sound. It was quite unlike the crackling snap which Aegar reported years ago. This was... Words fail. As well, I located chunk of wood in the lumber stockpile which had been ruined. When nobody was looking, I forced the wood open, finding a chip of lead inside it. What is the meaning of this? Since when does lead unmake wood? I asked Likot about it, but he took the slug of lead and hurled it into the fire-pit. Told me that there was no point in concerning myself about it. It was a concern he would see to.
I don't trust him in this. I usually do, because he is a brutally frank and forthright person, but Likot is hiding something from me in this concern. I have not been this nervous since the first arrow fell during the invasion by the Elves last year. True, they fell like the trees they so cherish, but that first week, when we had no idea when the arrows would start flying... that was tense. There are wheels within wheels. Why has Amost called for dozens of solid-gold statues, now that Adil is alone with her grief? Why are there so many construction jobs far to the north? And why are the goats out on the mountain now walking around with skin and eyes and eating grass? Stupid creatures. Trying to hide their evil deadness under flesh. The older ones told me that they were 'alive', but I do not believe it. Goats are all dead. That is their nature. Too many lies. I go to the mouth of Murder Pass. Things are simpler out there. More brutal, but simpler.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

This piece of metal is rather uneven, and the writing sketchy.

A bad few weeks. Someone fell from the tower, not dead, injured. Not the wind. Lor was on top of the tower, and I was worried that she would notice the layout, but she has not mentioned it, so perhaps it is safe. She cannot know what it is.

In worse news, something of a magical nature happened. I suspect it is to do with that staff we found. My beloved is also out of sorts.
Damn this place. Mireflames. Are not flames in the mire an omen? Are not Willow-the-wisp an evil sign?

[JacobGreyson]

Many spots remain open. Feel free to claim a dwarf.

[JacobGreyson]

--The text is in two hands on this reading. The first is very crude and sloppy, uneven. It is very similar to the script found of the Unknown Miner. The second is obviously Lor, as it is the precise and level script first found writ by Fortis the farmer. This is explained in the text, of course.

A great confl battle today. Unpleasant outcome. Lor was hurt, so she told me to do her writing. The humans had just de left. As the last mule was leaving, it was set upon by a clutch of goblins from the east. As Likot rushed toward them and the peddler's exaped escaped, from the west came a horde of elves, their weapons bristling in the canyon between the mountain and the Pillar of Dusck Dusk. Likot was greatly outnumbered, and the Goblin with their steel weapons are a cred very real threat, so we could not stand back and let him slaughter them as usual. Lor and I rushed forth, and I brought my Hammer through them. As I cleared the canyon with Likot at my side, Likot was struck a cruel, cruel blow. A Goblin brought down its war-pick on her helm, destroying the helm and causing her to bleed badly. I raced back to my beloved's side to kill the Goblin, and chase the others. The last I fought at the top of the Pillar, smashing him hard enough to send him all the way into the trees of the Flaming Mire. I've comm asked Aegar to make a portrait of this wonderful brutality.
Likot and I brought Lor into the infirmary, where Erith, her mother, gave her a sturdy once-over. She diangos diagnosed Lor with a Depressed Fracture of the Skull, a Heavy Concussion, and she was in a coma briefly. When she awoke days later, she was unsteady, unable tosta stand without aid, and complained of constant head-pain. She has it still. I'm afraid it will likely prevent her from sparring with me for a long while. As long as it doesn't interfere with our... other sparring, I think I can accept that. Still, she seems to have a lot of head pains of late. Why she has me writing her journals. She laughs when I mispell, makes me rewrite. Sometimes I want to punch her, but in her condition, I have to restrain myself. If she can't spar, she can't spar.
--the text changes abruptly here
I've been lying to Vabok for a while now. I'm quite able to write for myself, but there are things I don't trust him to put to page without thinking hard on, and these things are in the family, so I can't just let others into them. Family problems are dealt with in the family. That is one thing Father always said, and I have no reason to disagree with it. No, the problem cropped up with another close call up in the Tower.
As I was resting, trying to choke down some stew through the pain in my head, when I beheld in the next room Father and Likot arguing. At first, they argued as they always did. Father wanted Likot to rein in the heedless additions to the Tower of Steel, and he was sturdily against the notion. However, things began to take a turn. They became more and more heated. Finally, they stopped talking in the tongue of Mireflames, and began to shout at each other in Father's tongue.
"This madness will only cost them their lives," Father said.
"You don't know that," Likot shouted back. "This is possibly the most important piece of work that has ever been. And you should know that."
"This Tower is evil! Have you never wondered why people living near the Inevitables all died in horrible ways? Have you never wondered about the Intruders?"
"You speak like you know anything about them," Likot responded, spitting on the floor. "You claim to have seen things. Have you walked on the burnt, corpsed soil at the end of all things? Have you seen that sun?"
"Don't claim a monopoly on adversity. We spent five years in that hell. And where were you?!"
"Doing what I needed to. Not like you. I might have been a coward once, but now, I'm probably the only brave man left in this room," Likot countered.
It was then that Father punched Likot. I have seen other drunken miscreants of the town strike at him in their stupors, and never register even a flinch. But when Father struck Likot, the champion was sent the length of the room, crashing down on a table. Likot was stunned a moment before rising, saying "So you really want to do this... 'Fortis'..."
There came a clicking sound. I opened the door a bit more, and beheld Mother standing behind Likot, with that staff found in the deeps. Likot turned to her and said "So it was you who fixed it?"
"I assure you, it is in perfect condition," Mother said, colder and harder than I have ever heard her speak. Likot ground his teeth for a moment, then shot a scowl to Father.
"Fine," he said. "But this is not over."
"It never is," Mother said. When Likot left, she moved to Father's side and leaned close. I could barely hear, but I think she said: "Are you still writing the logs?"
To which Father replied: "Yes. And they believe them. For now. Talk to Flint."
With this, I knew that I was pushing my luck in eavesdropping, and had to retreat to the bed, so they would think my infirmity made me ignorant of what had occured. I kept silent about this even as I got Vabok to jot my thoughts of the last little while. I wish I could trust him, but I don't know who's side was the right one. There's nothing simple. I need to find out more. Why are they arguing? What had Likot seen?

[JacobGreyson]

Brief hiatus due to personal concerns.