Part 3: Vox Nihili: Update 1

From the Journal of Vox Nihili, Settlement Leader Pro tem, Entry #3
I ask myself every day why I agreed to come to this place. Bobthethurd, the leader of the expedition and only one with any real power here says we came to exploit the "incredible natural resources" of "the land". Yes, there is dolomite under the ice that is bound to be full or iron and flux, and sure, we have already struck rich veins of gold. The cave spiders here weave more web than anywhere I've seen:


But to build a settlement here, when there is no fresh water, no lumber, no soil, is utter madness. We are hundreds of miles from our homeland, and even after a full year of work, we've managed to dig out a third-rate hole in the mountain:



Nemo's death is still heavy on my mind. She was a close friend, one of three reasons I allowed myself to come to this place. She came along on this trip enthusiastically, wanting to bag a woolly mammoth or an ice drake. Instead, she managed to shoot down a giant mole and a troglodyte before being swarmed and torn apart by the resident batmen. Speaking of the the batmen, they're everywhere, and they live in alliance with the giant cave swallows. Both harry us at every turn. We never did recover Nemo's bones, which froze solid and slid into the Rift that cuts this forsaken mountain in two. Without her crossbow and bolts, we dare not make war with the resident monsters. Bobthethurd, Ticklehug, and Rincebrain have begun digging a tunnel towards the dolomite deposits in the north, crossing over the rough bridge that spans the Rift. I ordered them to stop smoothing out the twenty bedrooms they dug:



and instead work on finding some resources in this place. Hell, we might even have some farmable stone in a year or two if we can FOCUS.


From the Journal of Vox Nihili, Settlement Leader Pro tem, Entry #4

Rincebrain is dead, pushed into the Rift by a batman:



Perhaps that damn bridge wasn't such a good fucking idea, Spoonboy? You and Bobthethurd will have us all dead by the end of this year. By the fell 'Detective, two of my three close friends here are already dead:



Oh, and good luck recovering the pick from the bottom of the Rift! I swear, I will do everything I can to keep the surviving Five alive. I am not a believer in blood spilt needlessly. I craft armor, not weapons. I worship the goddess of music and poetry, not of war:





From the Journal of Vox Nihili, Settlement Leader Pro tem, Entry #5

Today Ticklehug, my last friend in this place, was taken by a giant cave swallow on the far side of the Rift. The thing moved with unworldy speed and tore her apart in a flurry of ink-black feathers. She managed to swing her pick once or twice, barely scratching the beast:



Her body sits in pieces, partially consumed, on the far side of the Rift:



The beast that murdered her guards her mutilated corpse and taunts us with its calls:



We dare not fight it on the bridge with only the Four of us remaining. Ticklehug worshipped Egal, God of the wind, and came to this place to be closer to his cold essence. She did not deserve to die this way. Today I will convince Bobthethurd that we must abandon this place and head back to the mountainhome. There is nothing left for me here.