I, Captain Vimes, embarked upon the illustrious company of Wheelrags with great anticipation and a light heart. I had heard from my trusted friend insane cow that it was a bustling fortress, wringing true bounty from the heart of mountains, as all dwarves do. It mattered not that the place was surrounded by ghastly skeletal parodies of once-living beings, it was Dwarven. We would persevere. There had even been whispers of adamatine found in the depths.
What greeted me, alas, was far different. Vast plains of bones and rotten meat, strewn around seemingly carelessly, puddles of vomit surrounded the weapon traps. I inquired of the entrance dwarves, and they informed me that insane cow had died. The total death count was a full 77 dwarves dead, mostly killed when spirits of fire rushed the miners after breaching adamatine.
There were whispers that the dwarf in charge at the time, faced with nothing else to do, had to deconstruct the only way into the mines, leaving everyone to their grisly fates.
Apparently, such rich metal was not without cost.
Regardless, I quickly set to reorganizing and rallying the remaining dwarves. We were lacking miners, so the one dyer was summarily reassigned. Two more miners have joined our rank.
9th of Timber, 305, Captain Vimes
I have continued exploring the fort. It is astonishingly haphazardly designed. I could say, haha, that it's very nearly a maze...
what the fuck
In any case, workspace is cramped, and morale is low. I plan to hew a more spacious and, I hope, logical living quarters out of this hell hole. More spaces for stockpiles, more spaces for work shops, and a new dining hall. There will be space for a dwarf to grow his or her beard out in peace. I hear from below the roars of flame, and I hope that the spirits of the dead are not looking out for vengeance.
There is a malaise here -- a type of curse upon this place. I do not know, perhaps. I am visiting all the dwarves today to-
Why is this door locked?
Best not to ask. There are more pressing things to do.
-----
I had thought the leatherworker Nil Sibrekekzong was remarkebally shiftless -- however, after meeting him it appears that instead he suffers from severe head injuries. I pray he gets better in the meantime, of course, but is it nessecary to do so in the dining room? I tried to interrogate him about what caused such a problem, but it proved fruitless.
"What happened to you?"
"im supposed talk about "important" thing, im habe good memory a good memory i habe"
I waited for him to continue, but he slumped over and, after a few minutes, began snoring.
Among other things (the list grows longer by the day, and it haunts me) is a strange formation of walls outside. I asked around as for the providence of them, but no one will answer me. The original builders had apparently perished in the great invasion of fire spirits. They remain standing, testament to the folly of dwarven power and dwarven arrogance.
Same with the room full of coffers. There was a chair there, well worn from use. Walls lined with coffers...for what purpose? For what reason? I slid open a drawer, fully expecting -- what, I don't know. Eyes? Bones? When it was revealed that nothing was stored, I was relieved, but preturbed. What dwarf builds a room full of coffers for the expressed purpose of looking at them? It's madness...but I fear madness is what Wheelrags is about.
Nearly all of the military are already legendary warriors, biding their time until they can avenge their fallen comrades. In fact, they had been suggesting such a thing for the past several weeks. I told them to wait until their skin was fireproof.
In any case, Dauros the Diety was seen shredding three camels into piles of lifeless bone and skin. It seems , at the very least, living along-side camels have engendered a spirit of respect and caution in those who live here.
color enhanced zombie camels!
I take it back -- it apears that several zombied horrors have been caged up in what passes for a zoo. Including, and not limited to, one skeletal giant eagle, rattling its bones and staring with sightless eyes at me. I left, leaving the door unlocked behind me. They're trapped in iron cages -- what else are they going to do?
More reorganization -- I found out that there were some exquisite golden statues being used as a meeting area -- not that I can blame them, they're quite breathtaking. Problem is, it's almost a quarter-day walk to and from the garden itself through a tight corridor. The amount of time people take squeezing past each other, not looking each other in the eye, mumbling things like "oh, don't mind me" or "yup, it's gold" is quite frankly, an embarassment. I forbade people from visiting for the time being, until things are more established.
There's now a new captain of the guard -- it's my hope that this restores peace to the fortress, and happiness and sunshine and rainbows. God damn, I'm already jaded and it's the beginning of winter. I gave him the room with all the chests. There was a prescence in the room, if only for a moment. I pray he'll make it out alive -- the last thing we need is the Hammerer slaughtering our already diminished workforce.
Mystery no. 5
What are these bones doing in the middle of the field? I would dismiss it as just another death by murdurous skeletal eagles -- but there are not one, but at least seven skulls among the litter on the ground. Are they in a pattern? Are they sacrifices to ward off disaster? For the moment I'm leaving them untouched.
-----
Nil Sibrekekzong sprang up today, his hands slack, his jaws drooling. We asked him what was wrong, expecting an answer along the lines of "i habe ebery dwarve ebery room wtih coffer", but instead he drew himself up. "I HAVE RETURNED" he screamed, unholy forces animating his frame, listing best he could toward the old leatherworking shop which he once had so cherished. Soon, he became a stable around the fortress, looking for materials. I pray he finds rest in whatever creates. It is not surprising, in retrospect, that a fortress with several dozen deaths has attracted the attention of spirits.
The days pass uneventfully -- a zombie camel breakout here, a re-locking of a door there. I've created a new stockpile to hold bones, and another one outside for things to rot, while extending the food stockpile.
Bones -- that's a good thing to note. There are dwarf bones seemingly everywhere -- possibly relics of a time when Dauros the Diety did not spend his spare time reducing skeletal goats to dust. He has a vendetta, apparently, seeking them out as they wander near our fortress. He has killed nearly a dozen camels already.
I talked with our resident Dungeon Master, Logem, about the Spirit of Fire. What would be the best way to get rid of it?
"Water," Logem answered.
"Water." I said. I was remembering the basic tenents of dwarven learning -- namely that a spirit of fire was a humanoid being shaped of pure fire and malice, animated by a hatred of anything living.
"Obviously -- remember the ancient dwarven game of children? Water quenches fire. Fire melts earth. Earth blocks water."
Dubious, I listened. There may be some truth to what Logem said.
Nil finished today, slumped over in his shop when I approached he whispered to me, exhausted, "ebery dwarve ... teh dwarve habe rest"
Nethatast, Bobrur Tost. Balancedbraved the Mother of Vising.
It's very pretty, but something tells me I should avoid showing it to Dauros.
Zombie camels! Dozens of them! I'm organizing our legendary soldiers into two squads, rotating on and off. Not that zombie camels are much of a problem -- I'm pretty sure that it's all a matter of pushing them over when they're not paying attention, but their mournful brays get on my nerves and follow me into my bedroom. In any case, we have enough bones to train up a legendary bone carver, I am willing to bet.
Of my bed -- I have bene having terrible dreams lately. I woke, one night (or thought I woke) to find myself in the middle of a blasted wasteland. Somehow, I knew that this was where the spirits of fire dwelled, in a previous life. They had been dwarves.
The ground was ash as far as the eyes could see, burnt to a crisp. Nothing lived, save for a pile of enourmous bones, the skull tusked and larger than my head. As I approached the skull roared "MURDERED", and collapsed to dust. All around me the ground shook, skeletons rising from the ground, wach one repeating what the first had moaned.
I woke in a cold sweat. What had it meant? What must I do?
I stumbled outside to tell the mayor my revelation, only to open the door to a huddle of people, quiet and fearful.
Shit.
-----
Arrositon and Sazirenam charged the dragon, brushing away the initial gout of flame. Unpreturbed, they engaged it and, to my astonishment, destroyed it without suffering even a scratch. It shouldn'th ave surprised me -- Sazirenam already has more than fifty kills under her belt. But her ability to shrug off magical dragon fire was, to say the least, a bit of a mystery.
"It happens," Szirenam said.
It appears that our force has made good on it's promises to become fireproof. It's not without trepidation that I ordered the carving out of several rooms in the infernal depths. Soon, the trusty band of five warriors were stationed in the room. They ran their hands over the walls, feeling the heat pulse from the spirit of fire on the other side.
Meanwhile, spring arrived, and with it, another deputation from those point-haired, tree hugging elves. I understand that the five trees in the area are probably magical specimens of old-age and living lessons about perseverance, but you know what? We need windmills.
Recorded below is an engraving of our response.
BRACE FOR IMPACT
Apparently, the documented spirit of fire is only because it was the only one the survivors recorded. Our miner, assigned the task of excavating the exit tunnel, managed to be set on fire by the not just one, but two Spirits of Fire that cheerfully roasted him where he stood. Then, as I frantically forbade anyone to venture into the depths save for our fighters, I found that all our miners were trapped in dead ends, trying to dodge fireballs.
They didn't last long. I was unwilling to give up hope, though, even when one of our champions perished. They were rapidly closing in on the ones wounded in the first confrontation when I heard the clattering of metal. It was the fortress guard.
I groaned. They were rarely, if ever, useful for anything. Shoving me roughly aside, Iden Ablelmasos descended the stairs. From underneath came the sound of fighting and, again, the dreaded sound of discharging fireballs. Then -- nothing. Iden came back up, covered in ichor.
"That's the last of them," he grunted. "I killed two -- and the third is not long for this world."
"You're on fire." I noted. This seemed to be an important bit of information that he wasn't volunteering.
"Ayup. Fire". He then wandered off cheerfully. I wasn't going to argue with him -- the man killed two spirits of fire in a row and with five dwarf deaths on record, well, I wasn't going to be the one that stood in his way.
The wounded champions were retrieved, and I was left to the task of assigning replacement miners.
The legendary marksdwarf was sent to take care of the last spirit of fire. Each arrow sent each limb flying off in a series of spark and gore.
kidin
me
I assigned Kinobok to the front door eager to take down goblins marching single file through a door. Who could've seen it coming, really? The siege was almost ludicrously quickly broken, and we now have 10 caged goblins to boot. How well do you think goblins handle zombified giant eagles? I know I want to find out!
They look back at me with blank eyes. "Uh. The miners?"
"THE MINERS ARE ALL DEAD AND NOW WE ARE GOING TO BE ALL DEAD."
From behind me I felt the blast of heat as the spirit of fire ascended the stairs.
Kinobok attempts to fight the demon, but tired from the earlier exertions against the siegers he's quickly overwhelmed.
Now it stands in the middle of our once-great hall, laughing and laughing, laughing and laughing.
All is lost. I've assigned everyone to digging duty in hopes that we can weather the storm. What after that? I do not know. We startle an elf caravan on our way out -- undoubtedly we look like beasts, beards scorched, figure sooted and bleeding. We ignore them. They ignore us. But there will be vengeance, for their lack of help.
I knelt. "Your Majesty! It was terrible!"
"Yet you seem all right." He picked his way across a pile of smouldering bones.
"The spirit of fire has been defeated! It was thanks to our legendary fortress guard."
"Yes yes, I'm sure. You may rise now. " He gingerly lifts his robe, skirting a lump of charred flesh. "I have brought a courtly retinue. Or attracted one, in any case. It seems that my face is not so unrecognizable, even after I trimmed my beard." He spreads his arms. "I hope they'll be of help."
Life continues. It is early spring, and the fortress can be said to have aged comfortably. And like the aged, it's prone to bouts of vicious and embarrassing flatulence.
In the interim, Erith Amnekathel has begun to mutter, withdrawing from playing around and pulling plants out of the ground in favor of doing...something in the workshop. The purpose is soon clear -- an artefact! It's not particularly impressive -- spikes and bands is old hat, but there aren't any images of dwarves being set on fire. This is a good thing!
One squad seems to have made up its mind, however, but a deployment of our newly trained cross-bow dwarves reduce them to a smear on the hillside.
Thankfully, our famous dwarven doors have been installed, ready to block even the tiniest trace of water. However, the water has now accidentally flooded half the bottom level, temporarily trapping one furniture hauler who blocked up part of the flow, as well as two miners. They can be seen here digging their way back to civilization.
I have decided to step down from leading. After halving the fortress population through sheer arrogance, there is no reason for me to continue. I have taken up the pick, to atone for the slaughter of the miners under my rule. To the next ruler -- Armok bless you.
STATS:
15 caged goblins (among which include one Mace Lord and one Hammer Lord)
111+ total dead dwarves (Might be off -- this includes hostile dwarves that were snatched and attacked the fort)
36 living dwarves
17 dead spirits of fire
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