Journal of Metalmouth Amostshorasts
Entry 1:
Usen-damned guards! Why should I be imprisoned for such a petty crime, while those cursed nobles sit about in their fancy quarters, while I'm fighting to keep Kobolds away from their blasted "Treasures," and keeping their quarters Elephant-free. Destroying a workshop is no reason for me to be executed! It's not my fault I've been in such a poor mood. These new "laws" are a joke! Made to imprison and disenfrancise innocent, hardworking Dwarves like myself. And... And.... Ugh. My head hurts.
Oh well, writing about it seems to have actually calmed me down. At least the Booze they're feeding me is half decent, and the music coming from the nearby Meal Hall is nice. I'll.... I'll just have to rest.
Entry 2:
Heard some yelling last night, then got yanked out of my bed. The Hammerer grabbed hold of me, tied me up, and threw a black bag over my head. He dragged me halfway across the Armok-damned fortress, and the damned fool threw me down at least 3 flights of stairs. I swore that I was dead. Then, the cloaked fool tore the hood off my head (Literally, I still have a collar from it on my neck that I can't seem to get off,) and I found myself in the Kings throneroom. The pompous fool himself was standing there, looking down at me, as I sat there on my knees. He stood there, and went on for ages about how the Mountainhome's economy was failing, and how the land we work is beginning to fail, and how society's "lesser elements' (and he gave me a real strange look when he said that,) need to be found productive means of contributing. After droning on about all this for about an hour, I finally just asked the old fool what he wanted of me. The King simply told me that I could have my sentance completely pardoned if I left. Apparently some fools think they can form their own "Dwarven Empire." I don't really give a damn what they're trying to do, as long as I don't die, and get to lop off some heads. Without thinking, I simply said yes. Any way to not die is a good option for me. They're currently processing me, and helping me get my personal belonging together. Soon enough, I'll be out of this dammned hole, and I can finally be free of the shackles of the Mountainhome.
Entry 3
Met with the others I'm to travel with. Bunch of pompous fools, if you ask me. That "Imperator" Belik is the worst of them, with his so called "rules," and his need to command us about. At least that Urist knows how to work, although I have trouble trusting a Dwarf whose family history revolves around being without a beard. That Councilor seems friendly enough, but so did those guards who tossed me into prison, and planned to lop off my head. The one named Magma has been silent so far. I don't trust her. I suppose time will tell who among these fools I can trust. Oh well. We're setting off now, so I'll write more when I get the chance.
Entry 4, 1st Granite, 322
Well, I finally found my journal. I'd really like to know how this thing ended up in the booze stockpile. Finally reached the site, according to the great "Imperator." An Armok-damned swamp. A bug filled, disease riddled, creature-infested swamp. Belik "Delegated" to me (Goddamn "Noble" word,) the task of chopping enough wood to began production of supplies. Meanwhile, that Councilor fellow was complaining to me about how we settled in a swamp. I agreed with him, and we discussed how difficult working in this environment was going to be. Then that damned Belik pulled him aside, no doubt trying to "explain" to him why we settle in a swamp. Some nonsense about being able to hide better here. I'm a warrior, and hiding isn't my way. If the damned wilds want us, they can come get us. Oh well. These trees wont cut themselves down. I should probably get back to work.