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Note: This text is almost identical to the Autumn section of Forgotten Seasons, v1.
As I trundled into the halls of Autumn, a marvelous sight unfolded. Before me lay an enormous stretch of farmland, decrepit and overgrown, but a farm nevertheless. Strange fruits and grains grew in plots, while emaciated chickens ran about all the while tended by massive double-bladed centurions. Did the dwemer find it amusing that the surface-peoples had a whole season dedicated just to harvest, or did they do this as a mockery to some forgotten god of the feast? Whatever the case, I aimed to sample a piece of dwarven produce myself.
Though the fruit smelled delicious, it was as hard as a rock, and the insides glowed with a foul light. Yet as dense as the harvest was, I observed the bladed centurions cutting through it with little effort and carrying them off to a hopper at the far end of the fields. While no doubt the blades of these machines would make short work of flesh and armor, my men nevertheless valiantly served as a distraction as I carried the heavy wheat over to the depository, hoping that these offerings would satiate whatever freakish endeavors the dwarves had begun, and gain me access to the rest of the farms.