I set this tale down on parchment to caution future generations for I fear legends of Stakudgur and its riches still enthrall the young and may tempt them to folly. It is my hope that this record, which I have pieced together and verified as best as I could, might give them pause.

Stakudgur was founded in the spring of 1052 by an expedition of seven led by Adil Nosingsakzul. They struck the earth at the bottom of a hill by a brook then dug down. They had chosen their site well and there were soon ample stockpiles of wood, stone and uncut gems for the crafter, the mason and the jeweller to work on.

That first year was not without its trials, however. The little outpost was heavily dependent on food supplies brought by caravans before Stakudgur’s farmers, fisherdwarves and hunters made it self-sufficient and there were days when the workers toiled in hunger and thirst.

Seasons passed and the outpost rapidly expanded as migrants were drawn to it by stories of its growing prosperity. The annual trade with Stibbomrovod and the humans from Mong Conu proved particularly lucrative. The traders coveted the wooden masterpieces effortlessly produced by Domas Ikthagmuthkat and the crafter’s legend soon spread far and wide. The traders spoke admiringly, too, of wondrous artifacts which were not for sale no matter how beseechingly they pled or how much they offered. The pride of Stakudgur was said to be Zanegkasith, a cow bone cage painstakingly handcrafted by Cog Athelakgos, a precocious child of prodigious skill.

At its height in the summer of 1056, Stakudgur was a bustling metropolis of over 150 souls and it must have had every reason to believe its future was bright indeed.
Continued…

Iton Vudtharlibash, expedition leader is throwing a tantrum! Iton Vudtharlibash, expedition leader has calmed down.

Iton Vudtharlibash, Glassmaker cancels Drink: Went insane. Iton Vudtharlibash, Glassmaker has gone berserk!

Alath Thakcatten, Fisherdwarf cancels Drink: Interrupted by Glassmaker.

Continued…

When others play Dwarf Fortress, it usually results in epic tales of tragedy recalling Balin’s ill-fated attempt to retake Moria. When I play Dwarf Fortress, it generates surreal Beat poetry about animal abuse.

You begin Oblivion incarcerated in a tiny cell in the Imperial City prison. What exactly were you guilty of? Pickpocketing? Bewitching merchants to get a discount? Disturbing public order by obsessively casting Bound Dagger in town in order to raise your Conjuration stat? No one seems to know and, oddly, no one seems to care.

The taunts of a fellow prisoner still ringing in your ears, you take stock of your situation. A thin mat on a hard stone bed. A jug and a cup, neither of which contains any Lipton Yellow Label. A battered stool and a small table. Some bones to remind you of your bleak future.

Ah, but what’s this? Three guards and an old man enter the cell. Wait, these are no mere prison guards; they’re Blades, members of that ancient and secretive order of knights sworn to protect … that old man … by the divines, is that the Emperor himself?
Continued…