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[JacobGreyson]

--UM
The spirit of this place has been infecting people with increasing frequency. In the last year, instead of having unfettered time to build the waterworks which will provide eternal water to us, or better yet, a waterfall (I can dream, can I not?), we find ourselves at the mercy of this bizarre mood. Our chef, when the notion struck, produced this craft:

Created by our chef, who now has a preternatural understanding of crafting wood. It was decorate with the single Star Ruby that I was able to find. Finding that ruby... It was a frightful experience. I knew exactly where that Bauxite cluster would be, and where in the cluster it would rest. Now, we are replete with precious jewels, save for that one, which is now part of the most prized accessories in the community.
Then, came this, from one of the group which came from we know not where:

He made it out of a single chunk of aluminum. For its size, it is exceptionally light. I can lift it in one hand. He, like the Armorer, reacted with fear and horror when he saw what he had wrought. It took a lot of talking to him by the others he arrived with before he would come out and celebrate its creation.

On the other hand, we also have such creations as these, which occured when Aegar took to turning his hand at Jeweling. He gained a lot of experience working in green glass jemlets. In the end, he created works using the bones of our enemies:

I'm not sure what to say about this one.

This one depicts our now famed Mason with his first piece of work since he emerged from his cloister. I announced that the totem be placed in the hands of the Bauxite statue which stands by our entry hall. If I recall correctly, it is the same Bauxite statue that Flint almost picked a fight with. Let's see him punch it now that it holds the pride of the community in its hand!

--Fortis
We are betrayed.
I thought we would be struck by the bigots with their bushy beards, but instead, we found ourselves surrounded by Humans. HUMANS!

Strife has orginized his militia, armed themselves and they will be heading out the
--the text ends here. I have not been able to find the results of the Human seige as yet. I believe we must go deeper.

[Strife26]

No fear.

Eat bone scum!

[JacobGreyson]

The results of the thirty eighth day in Sebshoskeshan:
I woke to screaming in the halls. Our food had been running low, and I feared that one of our number had finally snapped out of fear; the humans most likely. Instead, I stagger to the main hall in shock to see Likot running amok. He raced to and fro throughout the fortress, unsensible to all conversation. I was at first confused, but then I remembered the histories of Nist Akath. We knew we were watching an Artifaction.
The others waited near the old, long abandoned metal forges, as he ran through the fort. He gathered scraps of nearly dissolved Giant Spider silk cloth, some abandoned rubies, and some nuggets of platinum. Then, the screaming began in earnest.
He called for steel bars. We scrounged the site, but could find nothing he would countanance. He would brook no copper nor iron. So, we took our 'Jack hammer and chipped down some limestone. My friend and companion Murged, who had some passing knowledge of metallurgy, worked out some bars of steel, which were snapped up. With the bars in stock, Likot walled up the metalsmith's shop with all of our rolls of toilet paper and set to work.
When he was finished, he presented a steel high boot, perfectly sized for one of our kind. The Men amongst us were floored, since the last known Artifaction occured in 1552. Whatever force controls this phenomenon still has potency here in Sebshoskeshan, even after a millenia of disuse.
It was only that night when we found another Intruder.


--Fortis

The times have been foul for us. While our leader spends all hours of the day counting, digging, or admiring those damned trinkets that people keep getting it into their heads to create, we were attacked by the green skinned terror. Their mad advances progressed all through the spring and came to a head in the winter, when the daughter of our planter was horribly murdered, her body thrown over our walls in a show of contempt. At the moment, both her parents are inconsolable. Strife showed his acumen again by gathering his militia and wiped out the group who wrought this tragedy. In order to prevent further deaths by exploring children, we have walled off the courtyard they seem to frequent, and added an expansion onto the barracks. I say we, because that miner is still obsessed over the newest trinket, created by her lover Aegar.

I must admit, the imagery does agree with me. Seeing a depiction of the elves' only ever surrender does bring a smile to my face. I cannot wait until that mad race is wiped from the face of the planet. Also bringing a smile to my face was a silken robe which was taken from the corpse of one of the murderers:

Say what you will about the madness about this Sebshokeshan, seeing our works rendered fearfully in the clothes of our enemies never fails to inspire.

--We also found a group of marriage notifications, which seem to have become officially codified at some point.

[JacobGreyson]

I must mention that due to the agressiveness at which I excavate, coupled with the low, non-immigrant inflated population, almost everybody who has a job has hit Legendary, if not created an Artifact. Most of them are still open.

[JacobGreyson]

The events of 6/14/1820
*As recorded by Helgird Medve*
Urist looked over the boot again. It was of masterful quality, beyond the likes of which he had seen outside of a few pieces locked away in the annals of a few very fortunate museums. Artifacted armors tended to be used until they dissolved. Which never happened. He looked through the lenses at the engraving on its surface. Then, with a scowl, he turned, and looked at the other boot. It was steel, like the first, but this one was only days old. It was designed to fit the right foot, where the old one was designed to fit the left. They shared the exact same engravings.
"They are identical," Urist declared. "A set."
"How is that possible?" Likot asked. He was still ashiver from the making of it. They still hadn't moved all of the toilet paper he had fortified himself with while he worked. "That one was made ten generations before I was born!"
"Twenty" Murged corrected. All eyes turned to her. "What? I can count."
"Wendt, put them on," Urist urged. Wendt glanced around, then shook his head. "What? You're turning down an opportunity to wear artifacted gear?
"I prefer my rifle, grave-raider", Wendt said simply. Still, all eyes, camera included, panned to the Memories of Heat hanging at his side.
"And you are as fine a fighter as Sebshokeshan has at the moment. Put them on." Urist said.
Wendt grumbled, but relented. He removed his steel toed boots and replaced them with steel everywhere'd boots. When he wore them, he hopped about on the floor experimentally.
"Surprisingly comfortable."
"I lined mine with silk," Likot offered.
"To which I am appreciable."
A human woman came running into the residence. "Urist, Wendt, come quickly. I found something!"
"What?" Urist asked.
"Too long to explain," she said, and tried to run back out, but found the door stuck behind her. She tugged on it ineffectually for several seconds.
"You now have time," Wendt said.
"We've found another one," she said, annoyed. Doubly so when Wendt's pet cat opened the door from the outside. They all quickly left the room before they were trapped inside.
"Found another what?" Wendt asked.
"You remember what we found that in?" she asked, pointing to the Memories of Heat. Wendt nodded. "And how you found another one, just as rotten, in the Pillar of Dusk?" Urist nodded this time. "Well, we've found another one. This one is in the eastern Old Stockpile. Right over the Precursor Pipe."
"Are you saying it's mummified?" Murged asked.
"How did you guess?"
"The Old Stockpile is hot, dry, and the sand is salty. What else would happen?" Murged shook her head.
"Fine. Whatever. Come, I haven't moved it from it's nook, but I don't trust the others to be so careful."
The group headed down the stairs, and into the baking heat of the Old Stockpile. The human points to a spot beside where the boiling pond was held back with ancient stone. "There. There it is."
"Aren't you coming with us?"
"No. No, I am going to drink myself into a stupor off of your alcohol."
As the woman left, Urist muttered, "A surprisingly dwarven sentiment."
They came upon it, splayed out on the sand. It's skin was black and shriveled, its teeth bared. Its jaw played host two short tusks, and the jaw itself was large. All told, it stood taller than a Man, and broader than a Dwarf. It was wearing the same bizarre armor as the first two, but in this one, the armor was entirely intact. Not penetrated by the Memories of Heat, nor shreaded by the unthinking mallice of the undead.
"Is it a Man?" Likot asked. Murged cuffed the man upside the head.
"No, you fool. It is too broad. And look at its ears!" she pointed.
Urist crouched down. "By the Ironblooded, she's right. These are ears of an Elf."
"It's no Elf I've ever heard of before," Wendt muttered. "Sure, it's tall enough, but look at the leggings. It would have had calves like mine, and thighs like my mother's to fit that armor. Elves were always dainty."
"And Elf skin turns grey when they mummify, not black." Murged added.
"That's all very fascinating," Urist said, distracted. "But what is this?"
Urist stooped and picked up an odd device. It was the size of his palm, smooth, and black. He tapped it a few times, and an image burst forth in light on one surface. All around him backed away in startlement.
"Daaz mak Fiv Dakka Sho."
"What?" Murged asked.
"Daaz mak Fiv Dakka Sho."
"Who's saying that?" Likot glanced around.
"Gral vir mak siih Sho van mar Dakka."
"It's coming from the device," Wendt said.
"Do you recognize the language?" Urist said, holding it toward the camera. The camera shook.
"I do not."
"What does it mean?" Murged asked.
"She just said she does not know," Urist said testily. He looked back at the figure, the Intruder. "Take it to the Dark Forest. Now that we have the water going again, it's the coldest place in this mountain. And figure out if anything else still works on it."
Wendt and Likot picked up the large figure and took it toward the underground forest growing directly under the ancient dining room.
"Do you think they had something to do with the loss of Sebshokeshan?" Helgird asked.
Urist looked at the camera. "I don't know. I just don't know."

[Fortis]

(((Jacob, this is a fascinating story so far. Anyway, could I ask a couple of things? Firstly, would you mind if you left the writing of Fortis' log to me. I kinda wanted to write about his perspective of the current events. It's kinda hard to do that when you have already written for him. Secondly, can you give me a list of his relationships?)))

From the log of Fortis.
I am forced to wonder about these strange moods which seem to be seizing dwarves at random. I’m just a farmer, I can’t begin to understand it. Some of the stricken dwarves become secretive, treating his fellows as strangers. Others get a strange look in their eye, which disturbs me with how…elf like…it seems. Others still seem to suddenly become someone else, and later react with surprise and dread at the works of their hands. One thing’s for sure, it’s a bloody annoyance! We have work to do here, and survival is hard enough without a dwarf going half mad and taking over a workshop and using up supplies. What is causing this strange malady? I shudder to think what would happen if these possessed dwarves are unable to create these baubles. Would they give up? Or would they simply keep trying for the rest of their life? Or would something worse happen? What gives me the most pause, though, is wondering if I will succumb to it.

Trinkets aside, today has been a grim day. Curse those cowardly green skinned curs! I can’t believe the depths they have sunk to. To think, they were once our allies! I’m thankful for Strife for avenging the child’s death, Anyway, I’ve been trying to console the parents, but they have sunk into a black mood. One can hope that they recover from this tragedy. In the meanwhile, I have taken over the duties of my fellow planter while they mourn with their spouse.

[Strife26]

Strife is only a master? Darn. Strife needs a bigger weapon. Can I request a bastilla?

[Boksi]

Can I request a bastilla?

Wasn't that a French prison?

[Strife26]

It rings a bell in that way. I don't remember though.
The giant crossbow is what I was talking about.

[JacobGreyson]

Fortis: By all means, continue, but I have some designs which involve Fortis down the line, so be ready for an eventual hijacking.
Strife: By year 6, you're a three-facet Legendary, wearing an artifact Quiver and using an Artifact Crossbow, and wearing one Artifact boot.
Boski: The word you're looking for is Bastille. Bastilla is the chick that Revan's attached to in Knights of the Old Republic.

And for relationships: (- marriage, _Lover, always Male then Female)
Flint-Weaponsmith (creator of the Memories of Heat), 3 kids.
Aegar_UM(Both Artificers)
Keldor_Engraver (She's dead)
Woodcutter-Legendary Blacksmith (Artificer)
Animal Trainer-Legendary Clothier (Artificer) 1 son
Legendary Marksdwarf-Furnace Operator, 5 kids, one's dead.
Architect_Legendary Stonecrafter (Artificer)
Baugur-Trader
Strife_Currently bugged Master Marksdwarf
Fortis-Legendary Woodcrafter (Erith, Artificer). 5 kids: Lorbam (m), Lor (f), Akim (dead), Dobar (f), Zuglar (m). You have a grudge against Flint and are friends with almost everybody else in the community. Lucky you.

I also have a Legendary Metalcrafter who's four years old. Yeah.

[Keldor]

My lover is dead?  I guess that those closest to Keldor really are struck with ill luck!

[Strife26]

Yay! Can I request a machine gun nest then?
A three by three, two story (plus roof) fortified building with a bastilla (for someone else to use) on the ground floor and a bolt stock on the top for me to fire? Pretty Please?

[Fortis]

That's fine. But could I get some more information about Fortis's relationships? Who is Fortis friends with, who does he have grudges with, and what is the name of his spouse and his children?

[JacobGreyson]

--This is assumed to be writ in the summer by the Unknown Miner.

The humans have returned, this time in much greater numbers. I was at first content to sit back and let our traps smite our enemies, but they sprung a surprise on us. They came atop horses. Not behind them in chariots; atop them. Clearly they had learned of our trapsetting ways, for when the obsidian blades swung up from the floor, they passed under the bellies of the powerful beasts. It fell to Strife and his woman scrambling from their beds to stem the tide of Men attacking us. Likot Claspechoes was having a drink of dwarven rum when their swordsmen charged down our side entrance, slaughtering our dogs and chasing our workers from the undeground fields. Likot singlehandedly routed those who came below. In the middle of battle, Strife broke his crossbow across a Man's armor, and ran into the Armory. When he returned, he dared to wield this:

I had not even known that it existed. Bomrek, the bowyer, made it in utter secrecy. He waded into the fray, swinging Fallgales like a mallet until he stole a quiver from the squad leader. Now loaded, he fired six bolts in shockingly fast fashion, each spitting a human throat. The expedition turned and fled back whence it came, those unhorsed succumbing to our traps. Those not so fortunate were fethered with bolts by Strife and Unib.
With the seige broken, we gathered up our scattered group and did a tally. Besides the hounds at the door, not  single life had been lost to the assault. One Man who had fallen into a cage trap was set loose in the archery range and executed by hail of arrows.

--By the illumination on the papyrus, this was scribed in autumn
Our waterworks has been completed. Not only have we put a permanent cap over the magma pipe, and converted all of the magma into an obsidian slab. This means we will be able to build some higher-end housing if the need ever presents itself, and need never fear the assaults by the skeletal imps again. --Perhaps this has something to do with why the mountain erupted so violently? They had capped it for too long?
More important, and much more edifying was the waterfall.

This provided a calming effect as the water constantly sprays my friends and companions with a refreshing mist, and cleans off much of the vomit that we seem to spew forth every time we expose ourselves to he sun in recent days. The only ones who have not developed this... cave acclimation illness... are the soldiers, who are outside many hours of the day anyway. More interesting in my opinion is how the layout of the catch basin worked out. Designed as a switchback, the water cascading near the forges (which allows for easy and convenient quenching) lands in a large basin, where it flows to the only way down, another basin several feet under it of the same size. After that, it is escorted through a series of tubes to the now long-dry riverbed in the north, where it is dumped into the waiting muck. Since it is only dumped into one small section of the river bed, there is no flodding, and we still have access to the valuable spider silk that gets deposited in the mud.


Since I now have Flint and Strife dealing with the caravans as they come, I have begun looking over the increadible works which our people have been producing in the last years. First was Native Aluminum door, made by our stonecrafter.

It shows one of our old cities under attack by the elves almost a generation ago. My father was in that battle, and survived it by locking himself in his room for six weeks until the reinforcements arrived and drove the Elves back into the woods. More dire was this:

Made by a child, this depicts the battle in which my mother's first husband was slain and devoured. It is all the more disturbing, since we have never told that story to our youth, and yet they know it anyway. It is a dark irony that my mother, who survived this atrocity, would later be victim to a later, identical one. Much more uplifting was this, the most valuable piece produced in this citadel's history. I doubt that Atis could work for a year, producing nothing but masterpiece clothing, and match the value of this one bauble.

At the moment, I wear this trinket as a sort of de facto sigil of leadership. Since the people have been content in my rule over the community and my choices, I think it will give them hope to see something so strange of providence comandeered for purely dwarvish intent. That, and it really is pretty. I might have chosen to be a miner, but that does not make me any less sensitive to the aesthetically pleasing.

[Boksi]

You ought to name Strife's lover Bastilla.