Imusholtar: Journal 3

March 3, 2010

Jibar’s Journal

Summer is here and the weather is getting warmer. The tunnels will be nice and cool compared to the heat outside, so I’m glad the Great Tunnel is getting along. As much as he complained, Voidseraph sure is working fast.
Along those lines, the walls of the Tower are coming along. I had to tell Rutskarn and Balthasar to go lend a hand though, otherwise InksGuy was doing everything by himself. Actually, maybe that’s not so bad.

Fantastic news! We found platinum just as we finished the Great Tunnel. This should be very useful in future. We’ve got to get the tunnel finished first.

Oh dear. I just got a letter from Home.

Dear Jibar,

What exactly do you think you’re playing at? Not only have you broken all kinds of laws leaving the fortress, you TOOK HALF OUR FOOD STORE.
No, this is not hyperbole. HALF.
And you took it during WINTER.
People are starving now because you took all that rum and turtle meat. Duunkil the farmer has been taken ill and the soil has been flooded after Fenur’s pump system was sabotaged by kobolds. It’s not as though we can even hunt when you took the only hunting animals who could hunt.
Now pay close attention to me you little shi-
Wait, we took animals?-ker, everyone is under explicit orders to avoid your little fortress, or else the Hammerer will have some one on one time with their skull and yours.
I’ll be sending guards to retrieve the food soon.


I’m lead to believe this means no extra labour will be coming our way any time soon. What animals though?

Well, after that dissapointing letter from Home, at least there’s some good news. The second mine has found a huge amount of limestone so there’ll be no shortage of stone to work with soon.
I also stopped by with Rutskarn and had a look at his records. Yeah, we’ve got a few ponies, a mule and a bunch of dogs. Apparently nobody was touching them because I’d given no orders to. What do I do with them? No butchers to cook them even if I wanted to, none of them are good for labour. I told everyone to do with the animals what they will, so… yeah. Maybe someone will have a use for them.

The first floor of the Tower is complete! A great victory for Dikegild. I order a celebratory feast to celebrate and am prompty told by Phase that we don’t have a kitchen. Or a dining room. I have a meeting with VOidseraph now about the future of the mines, so I’ll do up some plans for both and get him working.

Everyone’s a bit down in the dumps lately after the letter from Home. Rutskarn has been freaking out especially. I don’t know why they’re all so worried, we’re doing great out here. Menenar was always filled with empty threats anyway.
I ordered the entrance to the quarry walled over, to ease some worries. Now the only way to the quarry is the Great Tunnel and there’s only one entr

I can write around th

There is a

When this leaves me alon

Okay, Phase chased it away. Somebody decided to befriend the mule we brought and now it’s wandering around being an absolute nuisance. It ate part of my journal and won’t stop nuzzling me when I’m trying to write. The ponies are happy to wander about the Great Tunnel and I haven’t seen the dogs
wit te mul bak

Okay, I’m sitting on top of the hill now. Cursed mule. The camels have wandered back nearby. Camels I like, even if they do spit. Kinda adorable really. Maybe I’ll get a farming program going. I hear camels have good milk.

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Cheese Wraps 2

March 2, 2010

Imusholtar: Journal 2

March 2, 2010

Jibar’s Journal

I’m so sore right now. Days just kinda drag on, and we haven’t got round to making anyway proper to sleep. All of us just kind of kipped out in the tunnels. It wasn’t that nice. That does give me an idea though. I think I need a chat with InksGuy.

Oh yes. InksGuy said it would work so I just gave the orders. No sleeping in the tunnels for me soon. I’m going to be sleeping in the sky! I’ve done up plans for a great tower to really mark Dikegild on the map. My bedroom will be located in the top chamber, so I can oversee the fortress from above. A brilliant plan, if I do say so myself.
Speaking of which, we’ve just started the mining under the northern hill. Voidseraph dug the stairs down just a short while ago and they’ll space out with the caverns soon. I’ve got a good feeling about this.

My good feeling was completely justified! We struck gypsum! Now maybe we can actually start building some things, like a tower maybe. Void is a bit miffed with me though, as I told him not to dig any further north. He says there’s more gypsum there, but I reminded him of the ponds above. Better safe than sorry.

Phase and me just had a very promising chat! He’s been surveying the area, and reckons the soil here is perfect for some farming plots. He reckons he can have us dining on plump helmets before the season is out. All he needed was land.
Well, how can I say no? While I write he’s going over the soil in what was to be the barracks and prepping it for seeds. This is all going so well!

Wow, never seen InksGuy that annoyed before. I asked him how our furniture and tower walls were going and he kind of snapped at me. Apparently we’re running low on rock so he can’t do anything? I said we’re surrounded by rock but he said it wasn’t the right type of rock. Apparently more gypsum would work. Well, I can’t justify that kind of danger. I’ll go do up some plans to further dig in the exploratunnel, maybe there’s something useful down there.

We’ve got a good amount of rock now, so I thought we needed somewhere to put it so I kind of ordered the graveyard turned into a quarry. I’m hoping Rutskarn doesn’t hear about it. It’s way way to the north in the second hill, and he’s been going over his records down here. He’ll never notice. Nope. Never.

Oh boy, I am such a genius. Balthasar and Atheist were complaining about wandering across the open fields to go between the quarry and InksGuy’s masonry, so I thought why not cut out the outside? We’ll dig a giant tunnel going between our two mines! I just did up the plans. There’s enough support beams that it won’t collapse on us, we’ll find some more rock and we’ll have a quick method of transport between our two hills!

Maybe I should have consulted Voidseraph first about that tunnel. He just stuck a pick between my legs when I told him what he had to do. Apparently a miles long tunnel is too much for one miner and two assistants. Phooey. Guess we gotta hope that some guys from back home decide to come and help soon.

Rutskarn’s Journal

I discovered a minor inconsistency in my records moments ago. A large quantity of gypsum coming from an unknown source. Atheist and Balthasar come trudging from the north carrying loads of the mineral upon their back. When questioned, they said that Jibar gave them orders not to tell me about it.
I’m not sure yet, but I think I’m going to have to hurt Jibar a lot.

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Imusholtar: Journal 1

March 1, 2010

Jibar’s Journal

Well, that journey was boring. I’m not sure what Phase sees in this outdoors stuff, there isn’t much to see. Not one single clump of ore or giant pit anywhere.
Still, we’re here. I made an executive decision as High Awesomer that we would erect our fortress here. Rutskarn did ask why we’re unloading everything in the middle of nowhere, but that’s because he doesn’t understand how to build anything. This is our staging ground. I can already see some nice rocky hills over in the distance, they’ll be good to start with.
I had Balthasar and Atheist do a bit of scouting while I drew out the plans for the mining operation. Apparently they isn’t a single wild animal anywhere around here. They thought they saw a deer, but it was gone next they knew. We really dodged a bolt there! I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about dwarfs starting to build and discovering skeletal monsters or elephants in the area! I hope Rutskarn hasn’t heard those stories, come to think of it.

The mining has begun. We’re digging out a set of halls south of the base camp in the hill there. Not very big these hills, not much room for our grand rooms. We may have to think of something there. Voidseraph is instructing Balthasar on the finer points of mining while they work and Atheist is lending a hand too, so we should be able to start moving stuff in soon.
I’ll be back in a bit. Me and Phase are clearing out some of the nearby plants for some extra food and wood. Always was a dab hand with wood me.

Balthasar just came and told me they’ve got the main stockpile up if we want to move food. Well of course we do! And there’s a lot of it to move to. I made sure to bring a couple years worth of supplies. Rutskarn said maybe an anvil would be useful too, but what does he know? An anvil would’ve taken up all the room for food! I hope nobody back home notices all the food missing.
Come to think of it, Rutskarn and InksGuy haven’t done a thing since they got here. They can help us shift these barrels into the stockpile. We leave them out here, maybe they’ll eat it all! Hahahahaha. I’m hilarious.

Pssst, journal, don’t tell anyone, but it’s harder to cut down trees than I thought! I’m gonna take the wagon apart and say I found the wood nearby. NObody will know. Not like we’ll need the wagon anymore since we’ve got this amazing fortress!

Rutskarn just took me aside for a little chat.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I know things are going well right now, but what if they don’t?’
‘How could things go wrong?’ I said.
‘Well these fortresses can go very badly you know.’ I thought he had read those stories for a second. ‘So maybe we should prepare if one of us… doesn’t make it?’
‘Doesn’t make what?’
‘It, you know… you don’t, do you? Life. What if someone dies?’
As silly as he is, Rutskarn did have a point. There was a second hill that looked good for digging. I told Voidseraph to go dig out a big chamber in there. We’ll build a graveyard just in case.

Voidseraph told me that hill has these ponds on top, so he’s got to be careful digging in the second hill. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. I should probably name these hills soon, if they’re going to be the basis for Dikegild. I’ll think of something.
Why is Phase waving? Hold on.

As I write there’s a herd of camels wandering around just nearby. Phase says they’re migrating or something, so if we want some meat we should hunt now. I don’t know what to do. Food would be good, but the axe is mine and I don’t want to hurt the poor things. They look so cute and what is th
Ew. Eeewww. One of them just spit. Phase says they do that a lot. I don’t want to eat anything that does that. We’ll leave them alone.

Voidseraph tells me the rock of the first hill isn’t good for digging. Too sandy or something, I wasn’t really listening. Two camels were doing something nearby. They’re fascinating when you watch for a while.
Anyway, he reckons the ground beneath would be fine stone and wants to dig an exploratory tunnel to get a better look. I told him to do what he thinks best, never been much of a miner myself. He warned me about calling him a miner again. Oi.

Atheist just legged it over here. Says we’ve struck magnetite in the exploratunnel. See, I knew this was a good idea! Things are going well.

(Here’s a drawing Rutskarn did of the area. It’s a tad… barren, but it’s home now.)


(Oh, and here’s one I did of the Fortress thus far! I’ll save it so we can remember Dikegild in its early years when we’re powerful and rich.)


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February 28, 2010


‘Welcome, friend, welcome’ said a voice, sounding strangled. ‘And welcome back’

He blinked, which felt very strange. It was a conscious effort and nothing felt different, like his eyes were no more moist or whatever else blinking did. The world was swimming into focus now, which helped little. The walls and ceiling were painted a deep black and the only thing noticeable was a ring of light highlighting the also black door, and a speaker up in one corner.

‘We understand your recent transfer may have been very disorientating. Studies show seven out of ten find this experience deeply unsettling. Please take five minutes to reorientate yourself.’ The voice was clearly coming from the speaker. It was asexual and monotone.

He made to hold his head, a bizarre mixture of pain and regret overloading his senses, but found he couldn’t feel his head. He couldn’t feel anything at all actually, or smell anything. There was no sensation going through him other than this new type of headache, a terrible new feeling added to a terrible day.

What had happened recently? Last thing he remembered was… was… what was it…

‘By now, you will have remembered your last moments. Studies show eight of ten find this memory emotionally distressing. Please take five minutes to compose yourself.’

Oh yes, the car. He had been out buying a gift for his wife in the city. It was a lovely day, blue skies, no clouds, birds singing and other clich├ęs. He stepped out, a necklace stowed in his pocket as he took a great intake of refreshing air. Then another step out into the road. His legs were suddenly swept out from under him, his knees no longer connected. There was no control over his arms as they shot for the sky by themselves. He flew, ever so briefly, through the air. All he saw for that second it took was a flash of a taxi. And then…

And then he was here.

What happened in-between? Where was he? How did he get here? Who fixed his legs? Where was his wife? All these questions spinning round and round and round in his head. He reached for the wall, but couldn’t feel it. Looking, he was clearly touching the wall. His hand had contact with the wall. But there was nothing, no contours or friction or gradient to the wall. Both hands now and yet still nothing. He was numb all over.

‘By now, you will have realised you are dead. Studies show that nine out of ten cannot accept this straight away. Please take five minutes to accept this fact.’

What? How could he be dead? He was here, wasn’t he? He was touching this wall, seeing this pitch black room. He was still wearing the same white shirt, same blue jeans, same black shoes. No, wait, no he wasn’t. Where his jeans should have ended, they didn’t. Instead they flowed out, spreading out until they disappeared without end. It looked like he was wearing a pair of faded bell bottoms. He tried to pull the trouser legs up, exposing his shoes yet no mater how much he pulled the jeans still flowed. Then he tried moving his feet, but there seemed to be nothing there. Where were his feet? What was going on?

‘Welcome, friend, welcome’ said the voice. ‘And welcome back to the land of the living’

Imusholtar: Prologue

February 28, 2010

‘Hey, Rutskarn.’
Jibar’s voice echoed down the empty hall, bouncing off the stone walls and transporting themselves straight into the ears of the poor dwarf known as Rutskarn.
‘Hey! Rutskarn!’
He tried to ignore it, tried to ignore that excited voice that brimmed with joy. Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen. I can plug my ears with my beard, he thought, and never have to hear him again.
He shut his eyes and covered his ears. Lalalalala can’t hear you lalalalala you’re not there lalalalala OH GODS. He had opened his eyes and Jibar was now face to face with him, defying all concepts of personal space.
‘RUTSKARN’ He was still shouting.
‘Yes, Jibar, what do you want?’
‘I have had a FANTASTIC idea!’
‘Jibar, you know what your ideas are like.’
‘Ah, but there’s no lava this time.’
Rutskarn rubbed his brow and ran fingers through his beard.
‘Alright then Jibar, what’s the idea?’
‘Well this fortress is thriving and successful, why can’t we do it do?’
Rutskarn had no idea his eyes could open that wide.
‘You’re not… you’re… no no no no no. No. NO! No.’
He walked back and forth, chanting “no” over and over. Jibar never moved.
‘You’re mad! You’ve been struck by some even crazier variation of a fey mood! Start our own fortress, our own fortress! No dwarf ever comes back when they go to start a fortress!’
‘That’s because their fortresses are thriving too.’ The smile beneath that beard was unmistakibly honest. ‘I already have some dwarfs who want to come.’
‘You have what?’

‘Rutskarn, this is Phase.’
‘Let’s stop right there. Excuse us.’ Rutskarn gripped Jibar firmly by the shoulder and led him away. ‘I know Phase, and I know Phase is mad. He’s an Outside Dwarf, one of those Fresh Airers. He’s even more insane than you.’
He gave Jibar a flat stare. ‘I will hurt you until you stop scaring me.’
‘Phase is an Outside Dwarf, so he can help us make a farm, and you’re used to my madness so his madness should be fine.’
Another stare. ‘I hate you. Hi Phase’
‘Hey Rutskarn.’ Phase beamed through his beard.
Jibar led him to the next dwarf. ‘This is InksGuy.’
InksGuy was monotone. ‘Hello.’
‘I… hello.’ Rutskarn leaned to Jibar and whispered ‘What’s up with him?’
‘InksGuy is broken. Something about stone elephant cages. He doesn’t say much.’
‘Okay, and who’s this guy?’
‘Hi, I’m Voidseraph.’ The dwarf waved happily.
‘He’s a miner-‘
‘I prefer Simon, if it’s all the same.’
‘Simon is the name of miners in his religion.’
Something about this guy made Rutskarn nervous. ‘What is… your religion?’
‘We worship the great Lagann and his ally Guren. Legendary warrior miners.’ Voidseraph bowed his head, then in a lightning motion shot his fist into the sky, finger pointing to the ceiling.
Rutskarn gaped, then shot a look of pure malice to Jibar. Gripping him again, they walked away once more.
‘Why is everyone CRAZY!?’
‘Balthasar and Atheist aren’t.’
‘Why are they coming?’
‘They want to make new friends.’
Rutskarn furiously rubbed his brow. Eventually, once he had started rubbing skin from his forehead he sighed. ‘What do you want me to do, exactly?’
‘You’ll keep our records and history with those words you write and the pictures you carve.’ It was hard to argue with the naivety that radiated from that hairy face.
‘…fine, I’ll come.’
‘Great! Let’s go!’
‘Sure. We already have all the supplies together, animals are ready. We were just waiting on you.’
Rutskarn didn’t say a thing. He followed Jibar to the gates of their once home. He stacked barrels in silence, bridled mule without a word, followed the path over the hills with sky ahead without complaint. And there, as he looked back and saw his home standing tall and proud did he speak.
Jibar mounted a mound, standing tall and proud, sun shining upon him.
‘Now, members of The Orbs of Comedy, we go to make history! Across this land we shall travel, and together we shall make our fortunes and our worths! With I, Jibar Endokista, acting as your High Awesomer we shall forge… um… IMUSHOLTAR!’
‘…did you say Dikegild?’

So my muse appeared and I wrote what I needed to. Then I sent it to a trusted colleague, and writer himself. And he said that I should persevere. Right now it is only the first third of a short story. There are two more thirds to come. And come they will. But in time. Hopefully in the relatively not too distant future.

So watch this space. A polished and whole, short story is on its way.

Peace out.

I can feel it. Its on its way.

Basically, I am going to post something, more meaningful than this. Not sure when (probably when I get home, for I am in NZ at the moment), not sure what. But something.

I feel a muse. I think its going to be a short story. With a Nobilis angle. Maybe.

So stay tuned chiiiildren. (I liked it too much not to use it).

Also, this is Void and not Jibbers, if that wasn’t obvious, since Jibbers has already posted a bunch of cool stuff, where as I have posted nout. I was just calrifying, because its not overly obvious who is posting what, unless you actively look for the little “Posted by X” thing at the bottom… Yeah.

What have I been up to?

January 30, 2010

More posts are a’coming. Christmas gave me a bunch of new games I can talk about and some new movies, plus I have some more of my creative projects.

I’m also doing an LP over on the Playground, here:

Anyway, enjoy.


December 10, 2009

An… eh time ago in a generally incomprehensible time.

First, there was the universe. Down the hall and to the left there was the universe’s kitchen. Opposite is the bathroom, in case you need to go. This is going to be one long story. I’ll wait.

So, the kitchen. This kitchen is vast and incomprehensible. Get used to that word it will be coming up a lot. The dimensions of the room mean if you detached it from the hall and covered it in fur it would look like a mouse. The kitchen already had a tail. It didn’t squeak but if it did it wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Do not assume it was a mouse however. It was only like unto a mouse without actually being a mouse.

The layout of room is similarly incomprehensible. It is eternally shifting, no two set ups ever being the same which is considering it’s a kitchen and there’s only so many variations on your basic kitchen appliances. It probably helps that the appliances don’t comply with basic geometry. Or that they aren’t basic kitchen appliances. These are the tools with which one creates creation. Though not creation as a whole, the universe and what not. No, that’s rented. Rented incomprehensibly.

At the risk of pulling a Tolkein and over describing this kitchen, a handy illustration of the room has been provided. You may care to note it is done as a paint by numbers. In the future, the present’s future, not the future’s future as the future already does, and who am I to predict what will happen in the future’s future, but in the future this is the universal standard for illustrations. It encourages creativity and keeps the human mind active. There are some failings with the system as all the numbers are the same colour, ‘anything you want’, and it leaves a lot of people quite stumped.

What is important to take away is this is no ordinary human kitchen like your own. You may find an oven, and a grill, a sink, a fridge, a toilet, a freezer, a draw of cutlery, plates and cups but none of these are for the purposes you would use them. The fridge may contain frozen stars, the oven may be used to bake nebula, the cutlery could be used to carve out minds from the infinite cosmos. The cups may contain water to drink while you work.

Just to remind you, the kitchen isn’t a mouse.

In this kitchen work the four Old Chefs. These are the minders of everything, building and cooking whatever comes to them and giving life and order to all. The pay is all right and they enjoy their work even if the hours are somewhat long. They get along with one another and sometimes go for drinks after work. The problem here is that time does not apply to them and their work hours are all eternity, and thus like a physician’s cat they are both working and not at all times forever and never at once.

The first of the Old Chefs is Azerothy, The Fulcrum Of The Kitchen is the boss. He is an endless mass of eyes squeezed into a white jacket, reaching out with fingers of pupils to grip his tools between retinas and irises. He observes over all and shouts his orders through his tear ducts. Never once does he blink, for if he did the recipe could be ruined in the time it takes for his eternal ocular organs to blink once. Passionate for his work, yet uninterested in the results, all he cares about is the process.

The second is Yog-Shuvoff, The Really Big Guy. His form occupies all conceivable space and many inconceivable ones, existing everywhere at once. He assists as the second in charge, being where Azerothy can only see and working on all projects at the same time. Things resembling muscles move the things resembling flesh to sieve comets and oceans as all life passes through his immaterial yet very real shape. He spoke loud through his infinite mouths as he hurried to finish before the never coming deadline.

Then the third was Shub’Niftyhat, That Guy With The Hat We Liked. A creature resembling an amoeba with too many legs, he ran through the kitchen in a never ending rush, always working on his latest brilliant idea with plans ever forming in his mind. Resting upon what could be called a head was what would later be known as a top hat, a source of contention between him and Azerothy who demanded strict dress code rules.

Last was Nyaralohtapdance, The Mad Saxophonist. What first appeared as an ordinary human male opened his jacket to reveal a tunnel through his chest that went on forever and no skin across his stomach. Watching through sunglasses fused to the bone of his skin he flipped solar systems in his pan and whistled through teeth made of rainbows as he worked. At weekends he played in a small jazz band at a club just down the road. He hated and loved with the same breath.

So the Old Chefs worked to create everything. But they were not the only ones in the kitchen, for long ago and much later they took upon them two Trainees, to whom they taught they secrets and techniques and who in turn helped them prepare their dishes of existence and make life. Not even they knew how they arrived there, but these two Trainees knew dark things and plotted great schemes.

The first Trainee was Cat’Thilli, The Dude Who Doth Say Eyyy. Huge and scaled he bore the shape of some great ape, with mighty wings like unto bats sprouting from his back and his face resembled that of a squid, tentacles covering what may be a mouth as he surveyed through two yellow snake eyes and heard through his adorable furry cat ears. In place of the uniform he wore a leather jacket made from one of every creature. It was his job to bake Life.

The other Trainee was Righton, That Fish Guy. Great unblinking eyes and a giant gaping maw through which he gasped laboured breaths made what passed for a face, and his sleek lizard body gave way to a writhing mass of tentacles and fins. He was in charge of clean up, throwing away failed creation though secretly he drank what liquids he could. Dutifully he followed Cat’Thilli whom he hated more than his lowly position and dreamed of breaking free. He also made tuna.

And then there was the great flaw of the kitchen, the very first thing made by the Old Chefs and that which the Trainees looked upon with jealousy every day. Them Elder Rubber Plant Thingies With The Eyes That Sand In A Man’s Voice But All Had Girl’s Name And Ate That Guy Carl. We Liked Carl. He Was Cool. Had A Beard…. Damn Rubber Plant Thingies. They were placed upon a shelf to watch over the kitchen as a reminder to all of the Sin of Consciousness. They were mindless and hateful, and destroyed whatever they could from their immobile platform and they sang of their spite at all that could hear them.

Now that the scene is set, there is one specific time that matters most to us now. One split instance of all time that would come to seen as the most important moment ever by a small group of beings for whom life was a mistake.

It was the day Cat’Thilli baked the Cat-Muffins…