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User:Cypress
Cypress "Paperscratcher" Lyshra
Cypress Lyshra has been ecstatic lately. He was satisfied with work lately. He spoke with a friend lately. He admired own fine laptop lately. He was pleased to have a mandate deadline met lately. He had a satisfying sparring session lately. He slept in a good quality bedroom recently. He had a wonderful meal lately.
He is agnostic.
He is the Philosopher of The Grand Library. He is the Bookkeeper of The Grand Library.
Cypress Lyshra likes Copper, Iron, Silicon, Quartz, Sand, the color Grey, MST3K, and Machine Elves for their confusing ways. He enjoys glassworking, and Book keeping. When possible, he prefers to consume Stew.
He is often cheerful. He finds rules confining. He is eager to try new things. He is bored by reality and has a wonderful imagination. He is entranced by riddles and puzzles, and loves to debate issues and ideas. He is given to procrastination. He rarely does more work than necessary. He needs caffine to get though the working day. He does not mind being outdoors.
Cypress's Library
Cypress writes often, and also collects many stories from others, publishing them in large novels. Sadly, the library is fairly empty right now, but a few novels occasionally appear in the shelves.
Tales from the Labyrinthine Hatchets
The Labyrinthine Hatchets welcome you! We are a group of dwarves that maintain the small settlement of Astninur, on the foot hills of the Fiery Spire, and on the banks of the Running Stream. Collected below are a series of stories straight from the gates of Astninur.
Journal of Ms. Urdim 'Whippeaks' Bomrekilrom
Opening entry
The traders brought my journal today! It was a year ago that I asked them to bring me this small, leather bound book (They forgot the calender though, those bastards). It's been a long year, full of digging and...well, more digging. We set up our defensive towers, and made a glass ceiling over our dining hall. Our farming and brewing system are finally set up, and all of our horses have been caged to prevent a horseplosion.
Ach, they just hit a vein of gold, and they need me there! I'll be right back. -Urdim
Miscellania
The Ghost Cave
Taken from the diary of Kogsak Olinostar, dwarven trader
There is a place we visit every fall, as the trees begin to drop their leaves. It isn't a fortress, hasn't been for some time...it's more of a cave. It's built into the side of a mountain, right next to a stream. It's the most beautiful place, almost no sign that dwarfish hands had touched the land. No roads, no tree stumps, no dead animals. Then there is the cave itself. It's a small place, just barely big enough for the old trading post that rests within it. The floor is smoothed, and engraved with strange, unsettling images. They seem to move when you watch them, and it makes me uncomfortable to stare at the wall for too long. Walls shouldn't be able to stare back.
This year, as we walked into the cave, Urdim popped out, happy as always. That poor woman is the last inhabitant of the fortress of Astninur, and this cave all that she has. The trading post is the second floor of a two story cave that she calls home...I've only had cause to go below once, when I helped her carry down a barrel of Plump Helmets...I daresay I shall never want to go down there again. Her bed is placed near the door, and then, right behind that lies six coffins, carefully made and sealed shut. Below that is a flooded staircase...it had been one mistake that flooded the whole fortress, she'd explained. It's a terrible story...and yet she seems unaccountably cheerful.
But we do not visit this place every year just to check in on the poor young woman, for she produces incredible pieces of work, ruby encrusted mechanism and masterfully sculpted crowns, made from the very stone of the mountain, yet more beautiful than any metal crown. It is an incredible that she produces it all in her little cave...and so very sad that this work is all that she has to remember her comrades, one her husband, by. Every night, she locks the door to the lower chambers, and we hear the last mark of her madness...voices. A myriad of voices rises from the unnatural floors, filling our sleeping ears with their laughter, and the beating of hammers, and the chink of picks hitting stone. But come day break, it all fades away, and Urdim pops out, smiling, her madness sustaining her for one more day.
When we leave, she sees us off, then vanishes into her cave, closing the door behind her. We've caught many goblins stalking the area, and none of them know of the fortress in the area. None of them even knew that dwarves traveled through here...and our swords ensure that no one will know.
She is indeed a strange one, her madness singularly healing...and yet, sometimes I wonder...for sometimes, the voices sound so real, so convincing...I almost want to share her delusion...that her world is just fine. But I always leave the poor girl behind, to live with her ghosts.