An excerpt from the journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-
Dear diary, let me rest my weary feet with you a moment, as the celebratory music and feasting continues below. I write from the seats of a new addition to our Karak (built with typical dwarven speed!), an ampitheater where only hours ago thousands sat and cheered, and I saw such things I never thought would come to pass in this life of mine.
Oh! But to jump to the end would spoil the story. Let me tell you of how I have found myself watching, once again, as history herself reached down to ruffle the hair of those here.
It began (this chapter, at least!) with the revelation of the motives behind the oh-so-mysterious magister's visit to my humble self. Dear diary, my troubled thoughts on that have graced your pages but recently, I shall not repeat them here. Suffice to say, the days that followed made mess of my focus and I spent much time within the Karak, for doubt had been planted and I sought to find what may have prompted such attention.
It was easy for one to have overlooked the changes sprung quick upon my home de jour, when all one did behind the safety of the gate was eat and sleep. Looking back now I can count stretches of at least several weeks where the shadows of the East Gate scarce touched my head, and my perch on the walls of Und-Uzgar was reliable enough that messages began to be directed there. But what else was I to do? Francesco was all but buried under the tasks of setting up a sort of tiny city around the kernel of those who stayed, and Oswald under the paperwork of feeding, paying, organizing, and disciplining near on six thousand humans in the service of dwarves. (Who, to be quite honest, did not seem to have the slightest idea what to do with us.) But! We had King Belegar's charge, and though the work done by my fellows was beyond doubt needed, I could not in good faith allow my face to turn from the broken stones of Death Pass. At least, such was what I told myself, but truth be told when I eased off the only ones to note were my lieutenants and they seemed happy for a chance at detached command.
Thus, to the changes to the Karak, such that I can recall as of the time. Most notable were the towers and walls slowly rising in the southern flank of the east valley, and the intermittent horn sounds that signalled tools down until the latest troll to wander out had been dealt with. I confess, it may not have been the first time I witnessed dwarven stonework coming together, but dear diary I found myself fascinated! Aught there was to compare against but the poor, slow, crude work mine own homeland produces, and the idea that a stream of untrained peasants with rounded fieldstone and trowels full of mud could be fair comparison is almost laughable. Each tower grew as if merely waiting for the world to reveal it as it had always been; each stone shaped and destined for it's own particular spot, each touch of mortar carefully judged and not a drop more or less than needed applied. Forgive me, my Lady, for finding poetry in masonry that only swordplay had before this held, but the sigh I released upon the fitting of an arch keystone was given with my whole heart. Such finesse!
But lest you think me too far gone to the creep of dwarfish obsessions, let me also note the stables and haystacks cut into the slopes of Karag Nar, and the motley collection of oxen, donkey, rider horse, draft horse, draft-goat (!?) and cow that in such spaces accumulated. Now, such things were no surprise, for I had been several times now called upon to escort caravans whom approached well-mounted and left afoot, but the sheer number of animals was easy to lose, only apparent with sight of the herds here assembled.
No warhorses worth the name, unfortunately, else I would have found myself light on pay and a good deal taller than my fellows next patrol. Alas. Perhaps it is for the better- pikes work best surrounded by others, and I'm coming to be convinced the same is true of swords.
Notable also were there efforts of the halflings, for in short months the dry dust of battlegrounds twice wrest from greenskin grip had blossomed. Dear diary, far 'nough have I come in self-honesty to admit my heart aches for flowers in our mountain home, but the tender care with which bean sprouts were placed in rank and file did grant a smile to my face.
Whilst still somewhat in my reverie, I walked back best I could to the place I stood months ago, pike first time in my grip and a waaagh before me direct. Such marks as had scuffed the ground were gone, of course, but even the gentle rises upon which we had stood were no more, flattened into terraces for the purpose (as one cheerful fellow wandering past was convinced to detail) of holding on every drop of precious water that might be spared. Naught of the Waaagh remained to be seen, not even bones. It felt... Satisfying.
And then there were the spiders. I can only conclude the God of Luck still wishes to laugh at me, such that I was in the heart of the valley then of all times.
May the Lady grant me fortitude to bear goodwill to our newest allies, for I shall need it sorely.
Wizards, it seems, are not content to poke their noses quite everywhere and upset poor fair knights. Nor, it seems, are they content to do such things AND build a tower atop a mountain AND scout alone 'neath the depths of the earth AND fly off in gyrocopters to play diplomat all at the same time! No, this wizard could only be content if she did all of that I've scribed above AND ...(oh diary what that I could convey the minutes I've spent starting at your pages on more frustration reaching for the right words which simply refuse to come!)
Spiders. Three the size of houses, some four dozen the size of ponies, and Lady only knows how may smaller ones rode the others. Dear diary, hundreds and hundreds of spiders.
Ah! By my words you may be picturing a flood of skittering bodies, but oh diary let me dissuade you. This was a parade. Marching spiders two by two, long lines of cavalry flanking the hulking, swarming center column. The Dame Webber was, of course, leading the procession on that horse of shadows she rides.
Imagine here a deep breath.
Have I written of her (for I believe the dame's horse to wear the shape of a mare) before? I cannot recall. Coal black and slightly steaming, with no gloss as might be expected of hair, and a mane and tail both more akin to an exhalation on a cold day than strands of any earthly material, but the most unnatural thing about her may be her eyes, for naught can be made out save at angle that gives brief silhouetted glimpses. An arabian style mare, perhaps with a hint of destrirre in her, good shanks and a long neck, clean withers. She is most expressive with her ears, and I swear to you I saw her once dip her head to drink at a fog on the ground as armies stood waiting. I do not believe the magister has named her? I must ask given the chance- dear diary don't let me forget!
But, look at my rambling scrawl! I am remiss in my distraction.
The purpose of the Magister's questioning was revealed not long after I began to more closely haunt the settlements. Francesco, for all he glowers and broods fit to be a dwarf himself, cannot contain himself should he be truly excited. (And dear diary, should I ever need the reminder, direct mine eyes to his right shoulder, for when he feels an advantage to hand he will hunch it slight 'bove the other, as of for a thrust. It matters not if fencing, or cards, or upending news.) Francesco does credit to the duelists who trained him and waits for his most devastating moment in this as all else, but the smirk that man wore around the Karag for days was almost insufferable.
On the occasion whence he finally deigned share, twas a morn perhaps three weeks(?) past the arrival of a large caravan under the banner of the EIC. He had asked both Oswald and I to meet with him after, but said he had a message for the Undumgi as a whole. For once(!) Death pass was clear of wagons and walkers, so we all had mustered, though the pikes remained in armory. He spoke as the sun rose out of the shadow of Sunrise Mountain, Karag Nar, telling us again of who we were and where we came from and how we earned this and what we were going to do next. The last was a surprise, but not because of the content; he'd spoken to some of us round drinks late at night a time or thrice since we began our endeavor, his slow gravely voice laying out a vision of wealth and pride, a city and an army to rival any in the old world. What surprised me was him laying it out in short fragments to the entirety of the mountain, sober sun rising in the east. We cheered him when he proclaimed the Wizard had asked him to lead the humans of the Karak and he had accepted, then doubled and redoubled as he lit up in glorious flame, orating of the victories we would win over all enemies!
After he showed us the torq of fire given him to mantle his authority, and spoke to us of how to use it such that it might carry renown and gather laurels to his name by acts of his heirs, should he fall in battle. He asked me to take on in truth the title Knight-Captain, and lead as I had been, patrols in peacetime and vanguard in war. Oswald he asked to remain as Gate-Captain, to hold command of fortresses in peace and seige in times of war.
We drank deep that night, and would that have been the only thing that's happened since last I wrote it would be enough. But dear diary, I've barely scratched the surface and already the present moment is ringing with calls of my name. I am summoned!
Dear diary, there are more and more impressive a court here than I have ere wandered before. I go to dance; wish me luck!
