Category: The Rise and Fall of Tatloshzulban

From the journal of Etur Reglelum

A small group of fishers showed up not too long ago – the most unremarkable of the three has suddenly gone mad, and is screaming about requiring silk cloth, a good we don’t have on hand. This may not end well.

From the journal of Avuz Nosimtekkud

The alarm’s rang out. One of those damn werebeasts was spotted out in the northwest. I’ve only gotten about six of these traps set up, and I don’t know if that’s enough to take one of these out, but the merchants are still outside – maybe they’ll provide some cover?

From the journal of Etur Reglelum

Sigun practically begged for a place to practice her trade, and so I went ahead and formally declared our meeting hall as a tavern, (I named it The Thin Harvest, so as to perhaps telegraph the byproducts of spending too much time there and not enough time engaged in labors; I got a bit of a pained look on that one) and said she could use the back half for whatever arts she desired. I even picked up a nebél from the traders for her to use for accompaniment. I don’t… quite understand how it works, but she seemed grateful enough.

And within the week now, word arrives of some foreign bard arriving to visit. Do these poets have some sort of messenger bird network for finding out about performance venues?

From the journal of Avuz Nosimtekkud

I told that Etur fella that we didn’go deep enough for our initial delve, but he gave me some yakcock about water access – now there’s all these roots pokin’ down into the common areas, and when we pull the trees above out, there’s all these holes in the celin. They gotta get plugged up, and soon, and we should abandon this to more fav’rable positionin’ as soon as time allows.

From the journal of Avuz Nosimtekkud

A handful of stragglers arrived just as I was linkin’ up these two bad boys to the meeting room downstairs. The wide hall is for the usual comin and goin, while I’ve got a whole heapin pile of materials ready to go to start loading up headbashin’ traps in the tight corridor. Should be enough drunks available to flip the two if the need arises, at least if I know my dwarves and their clusterin’.

From the journal of Avuz Nosimtekkud

We’ve finally arrived at this… fish-whatever. I’m thrilled to discover that, with the proper design, this should be a defensible location in the old style. Just build enough running room in the hill to the east, and we’re good to go. Just have to convince this greenhorn Etir of the merits. Will try diplomacy, at least to start…..

Lokum – Male dwarf miner. A graybeard, bald but with elaborate facial hair. Still possessing a great deal of endurance, but tends to drop things.

Misten – Male dwarf miner. Heavyset, tanner than his compatriots. Not the best at focusing, remembering, communicating, or creativity. Not fun to have at parties

Thob – Male dwarf woodmonger. Taller and thinner than most, with a distubringly compressed head. More patient than most.

Reg – male dwarf stonemonger. Greybeard, bald, with a weak chin, constantly dropping things. Great at spatially organizing, but starting to forget everything else.

Tulon – Female dwarf farmer. Very fragile. Smarter than her peers, but doesn’t brag about it. Tends to find dealing with others troublesome.

Avuz – Female dwarf warmachiner. Would be a greyhair, if any of her hair remained. Has a good knack for spatial organization. Forced into this expedition by her commander to develop defenses prior colonies lacked.

Etur – Male dwarf, designated expediiton leader. Has elaborate facial hair. Understands social relationships, but tends to forget things.

Far to the east of the mountain civilization of The Inks of Mortality, as far as is logistically available from other unmentioned dwarven settlements, lies new colony of Fishbanners (Tatloshzulban  for all you dwarven speakers). Surprisingly warm for the southern region of Zavazkar, and with a promising mineral base in the foothills, it serves as an ideal staging point to expand the Ink’s reach to new lands. Everything will be fine. Nothing will go wrong.