This notebook was located in the animal stockpile 3 months ago and has only recently been brought to my attention. It appears that the thief we captured and imprisoned had kept a small journal and had sought to send it to our enemies. From his writings, it appears he made a copy of the attached letter and sent it to the military leaders of Fort Oneago. The siege we recently suffered in late spring may have been a direct result. Nevertheless, I trust you will find this interesting. I leave it up to the Baroness to decide what action, if any, we should take.
To those back at the fort attempting to understand the dwarves of Usenshorast, I present this. Though I have long been expelled from goblin society, in my time spent amongst those stunted ones I have learned to hate them. I seek only their undoing. Do not attempt to contact me when you receive this, I will be gone from here, or dead. Here is hoping that this lowly rat shall find its way to you, Overseer Graulkuk.
I had first chanced upon Usenshorast, or Helpwire in our tongue, upon hearing reports from fleeing compatriots of the fort's great riches, and abundant children. Criticize my character as you wish, but children are easily sold as slaves, and even more easily used to satisfy oneself in the interim. The fortress was apparently founded by the fools at The Divine Honest Urns, a subset of dwarves known as The Stormy Helpful Knife of Pages. Long, wordy, tedious-typically Dwarven.
To describe the place is simple. A tall, patchwork tower is surrounded by a small pit, which echoes with the thunderous sound of running water. A bridge extends to a small area filled with dire traps. Within are guard dogs and more traps. The actual fortress lies two floors below that tower. Near the tower is a trade depot. When I arrived, the area was littered with the bones and armor of our kindred, which were happily being gathered up and transported within the fort. More than once I have chanced across their craftsdwarfship in human settlements, only to be disgusted by the composition of many of them; pure goblin bone. And they call us brutal.
Though my reputation precedes me as a master thief, I was unfortunately captured by a strange caging mechanism. After being sequestered outside, and gawked at like an animal, I was brought into an empty room within the tower. I have been here for almost an entire year. To describe the place simply, I would call it a nightmare. Oblong chambers filled with strange statues of long dead dwarves, abandoned and flooded tunnels that lead nowhere, sandy floored rooms, and the ever present stench of decay are what characterize this place in my mind.
The residents are mad. Tiny tunnels force them into strange, maze-like, go betweens in rooms. Construction is constantly underway to make sense of the structures but it seems little progress is made. No less than several times, I heard howling screams of pain, and witnessed injured guards being dragged off to bedrooms. Most of the rooms are engraved, but the engravings are so slavishly self-referential that it makes a mind ache to ponder them. Dwarves speaking with dwarves, dwarves surrounded by dwarves, dwarves traveling, dwarves laboring, goblins being slain-I am so very sick of dwarves.
Most of them wear several sets of clothing at once, despite the fact that older sets are in tatters. All are covered in vomit, mud, and blood. Nobles preach demands into meeting halls, and a flurry of activity begins to meet them. This place is a contrast of nobility and utilitarianism. Platinum statues encrusted in gems line the halls, and yet, most sleep on the floor. Legendary meals are prepared below, and yet, most eat raw mushrooms. This place's explicit contradictions cause a deep dolor in the pit of my mind.
I will soon attempt to escape. Human traders are expected, and the broker told the trapper that I would make a fine offering. I don't know how I'll get out, knowing this place, I end up in a mine shaft with a pile of coins and a dead dwarf. I implore you, Overseer, send ambushes, sieges, and whatever you have to this place. It is an aberration upon the land, and I would like nothing more than to see every dwarf here dead. Especially the stone crafter, Alath.
We know you have made a masterpiece, no one cares anymore!
Signed,
Axul Rathrak
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