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Captain's Log. 12th of Moonstone.
The miners of the great stairwell were down there an awful long time.
Even I swung my pick a bit, for old times sake.

But none spent more time down there than my old friend Metalax.

It seems the deeper we dig, the worse our doom.

Metalax has foregone drink and food, instead he now salivates after the small vermin roaming the crevices in the fortress.
I tried showing him some of the finely prepared meals in our larder, but he seemed vacant somehow. I drew him a picture of a rodent, and instantly he became a salivating mess.
Literally, it was dripping all down his top, which, by the way, is in tatters.

He's currently, ironically, hunting for vermin in the larder of all places.
I hold out little hope for my old friend.
Tonight I drink to forget him!

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