1st of Granite, Year 101
And so, it begins. The weight of this fortress, a weighty burden upon my shoulders. A cacophony of voices, a legion of whispers that never cease, they echo through the tunnels of my mind like the clamor of a thousand pickaxes.
The former leader, Texicus the First, rambles about elves and trees, as if they were demons. Hating those leafy sentinels of the forest, he hacked them down, hoarded their logs, and built a great stone pyramid. A pyramid to protect us, they say, though he didn’t seem to like them much either.
He focused on farms, booze, and living spaces, those basics that keep us sane. But sane is not something I’m familiar with. I am Digs the Possessed, the Mad Bear and these voices in my head, they drive me to madness.
But what is this? Logs, logs everywhere, an ocean of wood, and I despise them! They shall become the pillars of our defiance against the world. Cherry wood floors to dine upon, a testament to my loathing of the forest and all its foul inhabitants.
I take a look at the 14 poor souls who shall suffer with me through this year and start the day.
First things first, we will build a drawbridge to keep us safe and designate areas people should go in case of emergencies.
3rd of Granite, Year 101
The voices persist, swirling within my mind like a whirlwind of discordant thoughts. But in the midst of their cacophony, a peculiar inspiration has struck me, like a bolt of lightning in the dark.
The great limestone pyramid, a legacy of Texicus, stands tall, a sentinel of our fortress. It fascinates me, as if it holds the key to unlocking some hidden truth. So, I’ve embarked on a curious project, a room in the shape of a triangle, a temple, if you will. I hope that this odd creation might, in some way, appease the voices that torment me. It also allowed me to see that the symmetry of this floor was off and corrected it.
With feverish determination, I’ve started shaping the stone into these unusual angles, sculpting this temple to the enigmatic powers that drive me onward. Will this temple soothe the turmoil within me? It’s a question I dare not answer, but the compulsion to continue remains strong.
15th of Granite, Year 101
Prayer may offer solace, but what’s life without a good drink to wash away the worries and lighten the soul? It occurred to me, amid the ceaseless whispers in my mind, that the triangle temple, while a fine place for reflection and worship, lacks the joviality of life’s simpler pleasures.
So, inspired by the musings of those unseen voices, I’ve embarked on another endeavor. I’ve mirrored the triangular temple to the south, creating a tavern—a place of merriment, camaraderie, and, of course, copious libations. The symmetry of this new chamber seems to please the voices, and I can’t help but feel a sense of achievement as the stone takes shape under my hands.
12th of Slate, Year 101
As the days pass, I find myself caught in the unrelenting tide of creation and change. The fortress continues to expand, as it should, and my compulsion to construct and improve remains unyielding.
Currently, we are focused on enhancing the living quarters for our dwarven brethren. It seems that Texicus, in his peculiar wisdom, believed in opulence not just as a luxury but as a necessity. He was a believer in ensuring that every member of our settlement had not only a comfortable abode but also a place to stow their arms and armor.
I find myself continuing in this tradition. The voices resonate with the idea that as our prosperity becomes more widely known, we may well see an influx of new settlers. With our numbers potentially growing, I am driven to prepare opulent accommodations for all. It’s a challenge, but a welcome one.
We smooth and engrave the stone walls of these living quarters, turning them into beautiful, serene chambers. Each room will hold not just a bed, but also an armor and weapon rack, for our dwarves’ security and comfort. It is a strange but intriguing obsession, one I am more than willing to embrace.
20th of Slate, Year 101
Today brought a small but significant change to our fortress. As the seasons shift, we welcomed a modest wave of migrants to our peculiar home. Among them, we received a legendary weaponsmith, a skilled hunter, and four dwarven children. It’s a curious mix of newcomers to say the least.
The legendary weaponsmith’s arrival fills my heart with anticipation. I sense that with their expertise, we can forge arms and armor of incredible quality, further securing our future. The hunter, with their keen eye and survival skills, will prove invaluable in gathering resources and keeping our fortress safe from threats that lurk both within and beyond our stone walls.
7th of Felsite, Year 101
Today marks a momentous occasion in the annals of our fortress. After weeks of toil and the tireless work of our craftsmen, we have finally given form to the vision that has plagued my mind—an establishment of merriment and respite, a tavern. It now stands proudly with the name “The Brass Sourness.” as a mirror to the Temple of voices.
21st of Felsite, Year 101
Today, the voices within me grew louder and more insistent, like a thunderstorm in the confines of my mind. They screamed and pushed ideas into my head with such intensity that it became too much to bear. I felt as though I were losing myself, and then, in the blink of an eye, I found myself standing in a place I did not intend to be.
I stood inside a Stoneworkers Workshop, surrounded by the peculiar, pale glow of bauxite. It was surreal, as if I had been transported there against my will. The workshop itself was filled with tools and materials, as if waiting for me to craft something extraordinary.
The voices continued their relentless chorus, urging me to create, to shape the bauxite into something meaningful, something beyond the scope of my understanding. And so, with trembling hands and a heart filled with uncertainty, I began to work the stone.
What will emerge from this strange compulsion, I cannot say. It may be a masterpiece or a monstrosity, but it will be a creation born from the depths of my madness. In the heart of the Stoneworkers Workshop, surrounded by Kaolinite, I find myself on a path unknown, driven by forces I cannot comprehend.
26th of Felsite, Year 101
Five days have passed, and the maddening obsession that gripped me has finally released its hold. I emerged from the Stoneworkers Workshop, my hands trembling, my mind a haze of confusion. In my possession was a creation of exquisite craftsmanship, a Kaolinite Coffin of the highest quality.
I have named it Konosvathez, for I felt a strange compulsion to provide a name for this peculiar work of art. It seems fitting for something that emerged from the depths of my madness, a creation that defies explanation.
This Kaolinite Coffin is unlike any other, a testament to my unorthodox journey. It is encrusted with round kaolinite cabochons, each stone carefully placed with a precision that I can hardly comprehend. Bands of oval kaolinite cabochons encircle the coffin, adding to its bizarre allure.
And yet, it menaces with spikes of Kaolinite, as if daring anyone who gazes upon it to unlock its mysteries. What those mysteries may be, I cannot fathom, but I am certain that Konosvathez holds a significance beyond me.
1st of Malachite, Year 101
As the days pass, there is nothing particularly significant to report. Our fortress continues to hum with life, routines, and the ceaseless industry of our dwarves.
Booze and food production are, as always, satisfactory. Our larders are well-stocked, and the brews flow like a river in spring. We’ve learned to embrace the simple pleasures in the midst of our peculiar existence.
Dwellings continue to be built and furnished, providing comfort and solace to our dwarven community. The echoes of hammers and the laughter of children fill the halls as we expand our living quarters.
And, of course, the endless efforts of smoothing and engraving persist, as they will for years to come. The stone walls of our fortress become works of art, etched with the stories of our people, each chisel strike a testament to the passage of time.
As I reflect on these routine matters, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of stability amidst the madness that still lingers in the background. The fortress thrives, and we carry on with our unorthodox leadership, one day at a time.
9th Malachite, Year 101
A distressing situation has arisen in our fortress. Many dwarves have reported the heart-wrenching cries of a Dwarven child coming from the other side of the stream. The child pleads for food and water, their cries echoing through the stone corridors, stirring our hearts with concern.
With a heavy heart, I’ve issued orders for a bridge to be constructed to reach the stranded child. However, I fear that the harsh grip of winter will arrive soon and the stream may freeze before the bridge can be completed. Time is of the essence, and we must act swiftly to save the child from their ordeal.
As the fortress continues its routine activities, the urgency of this situation gnaws at my soul. I can only hope that our industrious dwarves will rally to the task and that the stream’s icy grip will not claim the child before we can provide aid.
11th of Malachite, Year 101
Today, it dawned on me that the knowledge of our fortress’s holdings was scattered and disorganized. None of us truly knew what resources we had or where they were located. To rectify this, I made an unconventional decision. Our only trader has been assigned the role of a bookkeeper, as it seemed, somehow, that the two roles might be related.
In addition to this change, we welcomed three new migrants into our strange community. Among them, a second legendary Weaponsmith has joined our ranks. It is as if Armok himself is whispering to us, guiding us to recognize the importance of armaments in the face of potential future challenges.
17th of Malachite, Year 101
I should have counted my blessings for the brief respite from the cacophony of voices that plagued my mind. But once again, they surge with fervor, urging me to heed their insistent calls.
The pyramid, the one Texicus first built, has haunted my thoughts, invading my dreams and rousing the voices from their slumber. They demand another monument, a grand edifice to rival the first, though I’ve taken a more modest approach. I have begun work on my own pyramid, smaller in scale but with a distinct purpose in mind.
It shall stand just west of the original, a place where our military can gather, grow, and train. Its construction serves the goal of honing our forces, so that we may wield the legendary creations of our Weaponsmiths to their fullest potential. The voices have guided me to this endeavor, and I can only hope that its completion will satisfy their relentless cries.
In the midst of this madness, I strive to find purpose and direction. The strange journey of the Mad Bear continues, as I carve stone and construct monuments, driven by forces I cannot fully grasp. May this new pyramid be a symbol of our strength and a testament to the unorthodox leadership that guides us 28 now.
