User talk:Kalon/Meshring, 188

Spring, 188

1st Granite, 188, the temperature finally starts to rise. The winter was cold and bitter but survivable. We have used the time that the brook is frozen to construct a completely dwarfmade aqueduct to a new well. Our resident mechanic created a masterpiece mechanism for the well out of silver bars brought by the traders from the Mountainhome, a worthy use for the material. We await the thawing of the river to see the small reservoir fill. A cat has again given birth to kittens. Again these will be processed.

7th Slate, 188, the third wave of immigrants. Strange voices were heard from beyond the palisade and we see a swarm of migrants headed our way. Nearly doubling our population, EIGHTEEN eaters have headed to Meshring - our fame must be growing. Few of the migrants had useful skills, and the mix of skills is... troubling. Two surgeons, an animal trainer, small animal dissector, bowyer, potter... It is as if the Mountainhome expects injuries and handicrafts! Two particular migrants, however, had a glaze over their eyes that couldn't be attiributed to any source. Their hands were pale, bluish, almost... metallic, and both have troubling coughs, deep and wet and prolonged. When questioned, they mutter somthing about "the mountain's nerves', working their hands rhythmically, and all who have heard this can swear they've heard indwarven screams in the distance and the smell of brimstone. I believe they may have handled adamantine...

9th Slate, 188, a craftsdwarf recedes from society. Mistem Munestetur, one of our dabbling stonecrafters, was in the middle of a chat in the dining hall, lounging next to the lever that we have installed using Desorkamut, when he simply stood up and walked away. I was taken aback, especially when she pushed in to the craftsdwarf's workshop with two stones of quartzite in her hands. She seems inspired, and is working furiously. The very rock seems full of inspiration.

14th Slate, 188, jewellery or art?. Mistem Munestetur emerged from the manufacturing hall today cradling something in her arms. When pressed, she ordered everyone to the dining hall, to line the walls and stay back. She dragged a table to the centre of the hall and carefully placed a speck on the table. Craning to see, gasps passed all who saw what it was - from two large stones, Mistem had chiselled, scraped and polished the quartzite to a tiny, ornate shape, encircled it with another piece of quartzite and laid delicately carved hanging rings, also of quartzite. Beaming like a proud mother, she announced that he had created Nunurilir, "Crevicejoy". Her skill with the chisel means that she could, single handedly, provide for the wealth of this fortress.

15th Felsite, 188, a caravan approaches. Our lookouts rushed back today, shouting that a caravan approaches. Rather than the stout, hardy wagon that we were used to, this one was slender, dainty, elvish. Phah. We traded a single spare iron trap component that was gathering dust and cave spider cobwebs for their supply of wood, foreign liquor, a handful of buckets and a few bags of sand. The trap component was worth more than what we received, but it was so insignificant to us that the glee in the trader's eye makes me sick. Elves. Can't live with them, can't chop them down like tress.

Summer, 188

7th Malachite, 188, the fourth wave of migration. Thirteen wandrering souls were spotted by our lookouts today. We now number a respectable 52 dwarves, but the distribution of skills is a little... odd. We have two high master cheese makers, and two high master spinners, despite having neither a dairy industry nor loom. I am looking at detailing a huge cavern to be cleared, with the aims of becoming enitrely self sufficient if sealed in - I do not wish to be caught unawares.

7th Galena, 188. The huge cavern is complete. I had a chain gang of useless peasants, cheese makers, spinners and the like hollow it out, and already the spores released from the caverns are working their magic. Like some unholy beast unfurling from the very sand, we see misshapen shrubs and stubby saplings of trees, familiar to us but malformed to the eyes of humans, spring forth from the sand. Given time, no reliance on the surface will be necessary. Then, I shall rest.

Autumn, 188

3rd Limestone, 188, strange affairs with poultry. Ducim Zasildom, our cook, was helping settle a new keet that arrived with the last migrants in to a comfortable nest box when she suddenly started screaming. Needless to say, we have a few more eggs now than originally expected! She abandoned the poor guineafowl and rushed to a craftdwarf's workshop. A pale blue glow seemed to be coming from behind her eyes. Creepy.

8th Limestone, 188, snatcher! A strange yowling was heard from the dining hall today, and on investigation a cat had been kicked by a stunted humanoid, warty, ugly, leathery skin. A goblin thief had come, carrying a sack, and a mean glint in its eye. A piecemeal militia grabbed some gear and headed up the main corridor, but the miscreant fled before a stray dog in the pasture. This only emphasises the need to replace the portals with bridges... This may be the sign of something... ominous.

13th Limestone, 188. Ducim Zasildom has been toiling for ten days, screaming, muttering and gibbering about alder, moonstone, dolomite and chestnut. She emerged, confused, as if she cannot remember the last week and a half. In her hands, she looks blankly and bursts out, "Oh! This is... Bemtun Leganodgub", amazed that her hands has created "Flutedoor the Mirthful Mob", an alder crown of masterful craftsmanship. We pressed her to create a copy, but it appears that she truly doesn't remember anything. Amnesia, goblins. I worry.

10th Sandstone, 188. I have ordered a little exploratory mining as we still lack the flux stone required to turn our iron in to steel. On a side note, the poultry we have amassed for egg laying are starting to fight - I have witnessed disturbing events - never before have I seen (nor would I want to again) a poult eneter a bezerk rage against a guineacock child. It is disturbing, and the animals are unsettling me Feathers... Feathers and blood everywhere.

24th Sandstone, 188 - a day to live in praise! Mistem Rutodral, the miner working on the exploratory mine, screamed. Expecting another queer turn and moody dwarf, we were surprised to hear that it was in joy. A new cavern had been breached, but this was not the cause of the elation, but Mistem, breathless and sweaty, announced that he had spotted a blue hue that he had only heard of whispered in legend - ADAMANTINE! PRAISE THE MINERS!

15th Timber, 188. The traders and Mountainhome liaison arrived today. We asked only for wood, coke, charcoal. We have not been blessed with coal, and although we have found the magma sea, we have yet to tap it. We traded the stone crafts that were encrusted with lesser gems and took all their wood and useful items. We remain vigilant, but the presence of adamantine has brought a hush over Meshring. The first strands have been wrought, and the first wafers are being struck as I write. Soon.

Winter, 188

1st Moonstone, 188. The river has frozen again, but we have our reservoir and well. Our food supplies are bolstered, so we shall not want. Our bees have produced a batch of honey, which I have ordered made in to mead to commemorate the discovery of adamantine. Remember these days!

21st Moonstone, 188. The bloody cats gave birth again. No kittens allowed!

10th Opal, 188 - our population increases. Kadol Etestolin, the presser has given birth to a darling baby boy. His beard was the longest seen on a baby for some time! She and her husband, Edem Oslantosid, have named their son Azmel Takuzthingiz. We have organized a party at the granite table in the dining hall to celebrate. Congratulations!

11th Opal, 188 - can't write for long. DISASTER LOOMS! The Forgotten Beast Rurast Gedorozor has come! A towering three-eyed thrips. It has a square shell and it undulates rhythmically. Its pumpkin exoskeleton is rough and cracked. Beware its deadly blood!

27th Opal, 188. Our doom waits below, but life must continue. After a year and a half of longing glances over many barrels of dwarven beer, two beards were wiped clean of brewed plump helmet foam and love was professed. Two of our original seven pioneers have declared their undying love for one another and it makes a dwarf proud to see it happen to two such stout individuals. The woodcutter Ingish Ustuthimesh and the manager (doctor) Melbil Bomrekotil have married. Congratulations! They have decided to forego any formal celebrations.