Editing 40d:Stories/Archive 11

[[category:Stories]]
=== The Missing Guard<sup>DF</sup> ===

It was a fine day when the ratmen decided to crawl out from whatever rocks they had hidden under. The local overseer thought this the best time to reconstitute that old dwarven standby, the Fortress Guard, to deal with the nasty little rodents. A legendary miner, and a ragtag cohort of peasants under him, were given the job. This miner had dealt with the scum before, and set to with his pick, mining so much flesh like he had mined stone, all in front of him. 

That very day, that dwarf, Datan by name, vanished from the fortress. None know where he went. And it is said, in the deepest places, you can still hear him looking out for the foul beasts, laying to with his pick, and of course, always on the lookout to wrongdoers of Dwarven Justice...

----
=== The Fall (and Second Rise) of Slingoceans<sup>DF</sup> ===

	It had been two years since the batmen attack. The human caravan had not arrived this year and the dwarves were working to compensate. About the only thing going on was farming and food hauling. Things looked safe.

	Suddenly, a farmer ran through the front gates, being chased by a monsterous bronze colossus. The metal statue quickly got through the front gates and dodged every trap, getting to work on killing every dwarf in its way. The legendary cripple, a dwarf with a mangled leg who had gotten a fey mood, had his mangled leg ripped off, shortly followed by his head. The military was sent out, only to be decimated without much of a fight. The dwarves quickly locked the doors to the underground river, but the bronze colossus broke the doors down and continued his massive rampage. The artifacts were dropped, as every single living thing in the fortress was murdered. Even the goblin king himself was killed; and the fortress soon was lifeless.

	The next spring, the Frilly Dagger of Joining sent in 77 dwarves, each equipped in full iron armor. They didn’t even survive until summer, and the only thing they did was yank out the colossus’s left eye. A second attempt soon followed, and the other eye was taken out, at the cost of every dwarf that had come.

	At this point, the dwarves decided to let the adventurers take the colossus out for them. Three adventurers were killed in the fortress. The Frilly Dagger of Joining hoped that the colossus would die one day, allowing them to reclaim Slingoceans.

	One day, the colossus does. A dwarf, mentally insane and believing he is Arnok, the God of Blood, attacked the colossus. The first blow cut off one of its legs. The dwarf continued to strike with all of his power, cutting off every limb, until finally shattering the upper body and killing off the beast. He had paused once to ponder why the colossus was wearing a MITTEN, and after the horror had fallen, why his corpse had become a masterwork statue. However, being insane, he didn’t care.

	‘Arnok’ walked out of Slingoceans, stepping in blood throughout the fortress. With his work done, Slingoceans could be reclaimed, allowing the fortress to return. Shortly before the door, he tripped over Razokil, a perfect aventurine artifact. He sighed, and walked out of the fortress, to tell the Frilly Dagger of Joining that the fortress was reclaimable. Soon, a team of SEVENTY-SEVEN dwarves would charge into the fortress, and reclaim Slingoceans.

----
=== The Fall of Acetower<sup>DF</sup> ===

My fortress was doing fine. A stone road went all the way to the Oceanic Union of Dreamy Sea, a mighty human kingdom, the local goblinoids haven't had attacked yet, even that we had lived in the area over 3 years. The Acetower was populated by about 50 dwarves and I was going to flooding some new farms to the eastern beach of the cave river. When suddenly more immigrants appear! Yeah, 5 masons, 7 carpenters, speardwarf and one cat... Greeeeat. I'm assigning the immigrants to more vital jobs when I receive a note about someone cancelloing job because dangerous terrain. I pause for a moment and wonder what has happened. Then I remember: I didn't lock the doors to the new farms, some poor fellow has probably walked to the flooding farmcavern. When I check the area, I find to my horror that the flood is allready going over my bridge towards the cliffedge and the levers that control the draw bridge and floodgates are already flooded. I try to stop the permaflood but no avail. And this is the moment when ratmen started their invasion. The surviving dwarves, all 5 of them were quickly annihilated, the last of them being my legendary miner who jumped to the chasm after one of the ratmen...

----
=== Swordbear's Joy<sup>DF</sup> ===

	It was spring of 1061. The fortress Swordbear, located in a serene area (looking back, the dwarves would have preferred a calm area, mostly due to the unicorns), had just finished digging out and flooding a gigantic underground forest. The farmers toiled hard and long to bring in plump helmets to eat this year. A marksdwarf squad, led by a champion, fired down the targets with masterwork bone bolts. Siege operators loaded the two ballista up, and the elven caravan was coming on in.

	Imere Liwaova, from the elven civilization “The Smiles of Silver”, was slowly pulling the mule along. He wanted to see how long it would take before the dwarves at this smelly dump named “Swordbear” managed to realize the joys of nature and live outside, along the unicorns and elephants. He at least knew they were likely going to give them bone bolts, causing them to leave early. He sighed, and pushed the old mule even harder. His companion was worried about the world’s status, saying to him, “The goblins are mobilizing up for war. I reckon we’ve given the world enough of a chance. We should team up with those polluting humans. Yes, they actually use the wood to build their houses; at least the dwarves dig into the rock and grow crops inside. We simply kill the goblins off, and then turn around and exterminate those annoying ‘secondborn’ from this world.” Imere was about to reply that the dwarves should be taken out before the humans, seeing as they had 1060 years to improve, whereas the humans only had 560, when a ballista arrow removed his head. Not even the Firstborn themselves could survive a full scale decapitation.

	The siege operators had been given instructions to fire down upon those “clean, nature loving hippies” with their wooden weapons of death. They cheered when Imere’s headless corpse fell down, feeding blood to the plants. A second later, they saw a sad side affect to the impact. The poor mule had been hit as well, was impaled onto the ballista arrow, and was thrown down without any mercy, where the old thing then bled to death. The other elf managed to get away, dodging several ballista arrows easily, and then left the area. Imere was wrong. They weren’t going  to stop trading early. They were not going to trade at all.

	Thankfully, the mule was holding all the dyed cloth, and the dwarves held a full funeral for the fallen… mule because they hated elves a LOT. They then threw his corpse into the butchers shop to be turned into meat, leaving the dwarves happy and well fed. Then they took its bones, along with those of some kobolds and the elf, and turned them into powerful bone bolts. -- Written by Bingbing

----
=== The Winter of Discontent (And the Spring of Sorrow)<sup>DF</sup> ===

Year 1055 of the city, Rakustkast, better known as Tombgeniuses

In the year 1055 of the Eternal Land Of Forever, a siege of goblins fell upon Tombgeniuses. South of the main road was a band of savage, brutal goblins intent on ransacking the dwarven city. Immediately a general alarm was sounded and all dwarves were ushered inside. Meanwhile, eager to test out the catapult defenses, an assigned siege operator let fly with a rock. While in the right direction, the goblins were still a ways out of the firing angle, and with a shrug, the dwarf went to do other tasks when he SHOULD have been stationed by the catapults. As the goblins ran into range, the message was relayed through the city to the two dwarves, the message being: "Rock and Roll.". However, the designated siege operators were swamped in the duties of common peasantry, panicked dwarves told all mechanics and carpenters to help launch the catapults as the goblins began to run down the main road hooting, hollering, and screaming for dwarven blood. In a cruel twist of irony, the carpenters were actually on the job, busy chopping down trees that had grown in the designated farming areas inside and could not be reached. The mechanics were either getting drunk off their mind or sleeping off their latest meal. When the dwarves finally began getting around to firing the catapults in frantic panic, the goblins were already on the bridge proceeding past. However, as the dwarves began preparing and readying the catapults, huge clouds of miasma began clouding up the entire front entrance, fogging the catapult posts heavily, forcing the dwarves to work in near blind, revolting conditions. These miasma clouds were generated by dead thieves which the dwarves had failed to dispose of, not only creating a disgusting scene but also keeping the front doors ajar, creating a perfect scene of war for the dwarves, toiling in huge clouds of terrible miasma, desperate to drive off the goblin horde. Due to the huge cloud of miasma hindering their vision, most of the shots flew far off to the side, causing taunting and jeering from the goblins. However, as one of the goblin macemen was busy insulting their hated foe, one boulder flew true through the middle of the ranks and nearly obliterated the entire right side of the maceman. Breaking many bones and causing many internal injuries, the goblin maceman was reduced to a crawling, vomiting heap, yet it was still determined to bathe the halls in dwarven blood. Laughing cruelly at their unfortunate comrade, the goblins continued charging forward, more concerned about the impending kill rather than helping their wounded comrade. As the dwarves attempted to reload in the midst of stinking miasma clouds, made worse due to heat because of the fort being located in the tropics, the dwarves heard the baying and screaming of the goblin horde and peered through the thick fog of miasma to notice the figures moving through the miasma wielding iron bows and crossbows. Realizing in horror that over half of the horde were armed with ranged weaponry, they decided to abandon the catapults and run for their lives, screaming. Throughout all this carnage were two dwarves standing at the entrance, entranced and deep into their assorted, imported alcohol, watching the catapults launch their stones through the air and the goblins nearing the entrance little by little, moving surprisingly quick for a goblin horde. Two dwarves by the door were drinking their booze, taunting the goblins in the miasma, they realized with sudden horror that the figures began shooting their iron arrows at them. Thinking with sudden clarity, the two dwarves turned and began running down the narrow hall, abandoning the barrels full of alcohol and leaving the doors open. One unfortunate 'door dwarf' was not so lucky and was mortally wounded almost immediately, while his comrade, a military dwarf left him behind. Cursing the goblins, Id Olonozor, a carpenter, could do naught but lie in the hall, punctured by many arrows and watch the darkness settle into his eyes little by little. Craftsdwarves, perhaps unaware of the alarm and the impending danger of the goblin forces made their way to the main entrance hall to clean the traps as ordered earlier, ignoring the running carpenters and mechanics, they opened the second set of doors and stared dumbfoundedly at the goblins on the other side of the entrance hall, just outside the first set of doors and looking around as the marksdwarves rushed past them and began taking up positions on their side of the door, waiting for the enemy to come into range. Howling with glee, the goblin archers began letting loose a barrage of arrows, causing most of the craftsdwarves to realize the gravity of the situation and flee. However, one dwarf was racing TOWARD the goblins, a craftsdwarf by the name of Lokum Bisolablel. Racing toward his wounded comrade, he thrust his head bullishly forward, ignoring the onset of arrows that amazingly killed one of the marksdwarves on the other side of the hall in one shot yet failing to even hit him. As Lokum neared his friend, he was suddenly jerking around spasmatically. Compelled, he looked down to find several arrows protruding from his body, perhaps the goblins shot off aim on purpose to lure him closer? Amazed at this revelation, all the strength seemed to just flow out of him as he collapsed to the floor. With a mangled lower body, a broken arm, and worst of all, a mangled left lung, he found himself gasping for air, staring at the goblin horde just outside of the fort, firing their arrows with reckless abandon. Despite their numbers, the goblin archers were strangely bad shots, somehow missing the prone dwarf merely several feet away from him, while managing to kill a distant marksdwarf that was further back just moments ago. By now the marksdwarves realized that they were going to be killed if they just stood there and if they charged forward to get the goblins into range of their crossbows, they would get cut down. Tragically, to make things even worse in this hellish nightmare, several of the civilians were struck with a sudden heroism. Farmers, craftdwarves, miners, and more were rushing past the marksdwarves in a heroic, yet stupid attempt to rescue their injured friends who were near the goblin horde. Zasit Lallibash and Olin Tekkudkogan were cut down by the goblin arrows, while several more were wounded. The marksdwarves decided that they were going to have to do something desperate. Running behind the second set of doors, they were preparing to close it tight to force the goblins to come inside, while preventing the lemming rush of death of civilian dwarves determined to rescue their fallen comrades. As the marksdwarves moved behind the doors with strange efficiency, they looked back into the entrance hall, which had by now been reduced to a scene of blood, corpses, and a hellstorm of arrows, and saw the most remarkable sight yet. In the midst of screaming farmers and civilians caught in the crossfire, Alath Unibodshith, or Alath Ragclam, the fortress' historian (My legendary engraver) was racing toward the marksdwarves with remarkable speed AND an injured dwarf on her back. It was apparent she had braved the trial by arrows to retrieve an injured fisherdwarf and was racing back toward the door, and miraculously, there was not a scratch on her. It was as if she was protected on a divine level. The marksdwarves encouraged Alath as she ran toward safety, arrows raining down all around her, yet failing to hit her as she sped down the hall. Finally making it through, followed by several dogs, the marksdwarves finally managed to close and lock the door, preventing any more civilians from attempting to be heroes while horrificially leaving the dwarves on the other side at the mercy of the goblins. The goblin swordsmen, macemen, and others were tired of their bowmen getting all the kills, and realizing that the dwarves in the main hall were locked out and banging desperately on the door for entry, the goblin soldiers whooped and charged in to the fort, along with the bowmen of their kind. To their sudden horror, they had entered a gauntlet of fiendish dwarven traps and were suddenly in a storm of serrated copper blades, huge spiked balls, and enormous giant corkscrews. Blood, and limbs flew everywhere and what had once been war cries now turned into howls of agony and cowardice. One of the bowmen had managed to make it past the battery of traps, and as it looked back toward it's brethren getting slaughtered like sheep, it chuckled to itself and thought of the pleasures of the kill it would get all to itself, as it turned around however, he saw only two giant copper axe blades fast descending towards it. Panicked by the traps butchering their fellow goblins, the others turned tail and ran, the siege finally breaking. As they ran past the wounded goblin maceman who had limped all the way despite behind hit by a boulder, the frustrated maceman could only watch in confused fury as they ran in fear from the dwarven fortress. As it chastized and yelled at it's fleeing brethren, it turned it's bloody vision toward the hall, wondering what was causing such fear in it's comrades and saw the whirlwind of giant traps skewering and disembowling the unfortunate goblins, as well as the river of blood flowing both in and out of the fortress and decided that perhaps it was time to call it a day, and that was when it passed out from pain caused by the boulder impact yet again. The marksdwarves, holding back the growing flood of dwarves determined to run out foolishly to their deaths in an attempt to rescue their comrades noted that the entrance hall on the other side was mysteriously silent. The civilians noted their momentary waver in attention and pushed the marksdwarves so hard, the doors finally burst open. The dwarves' determined charge was reduced to a half-jog as they noted the disembowled corpses of goblins laying in the trapped hallway and more importantly, the moans and groans of the surviving dwarves among the dead. With a heavy sigh, many now unhappy dwarves began to clean up the orgy of blood, arrows, and corpses. As they began to bring the first of the dead to the outside, they laughed at the limping and crawling goblin maceman, falling unconcious nearly constantly. Some of the dwarves yelled furiously, wanting their so-called military to finish off the lone maceman, but the marksdwarves had returned to their barracks to digest the events of the day and grieve over their fallen marksdwarf comrade, and upon the though of further death and bloodshed, the dwarves decided mercifully to let the maceman go and concentrate on cleaning up the aftermath. Five dwarves had been shot and killed, and 3 more were wounded, though one only suffered from serious wounds

But the season was only beginning...

Into the next month, the dwarves were in a grim, somber mood. A marksdwarf, angered at the loss of her comrade, went into a tantrum, toppling a much vital weapon trap and starting fist fights with a mason, followed by a dog. Outraged at such brutality on an innocent dwarf and dog, one of the assigned fortress guard issued a beating on the hapless marksdwarf followed by confinement. A wave of unhappy dwarves plowed through their tasks with efficiency, trying to lift their moods through diligent and rewarding work. One marksdwarf sat at the soon to be legendary dining hall, staring down at the seeds of a plump helmet, the one he had just eaten. As the marksdwarf sat digesting the plump helmet, he was also attempting to digest the events of this month. The sudden attack of the goblins was a little strange, and his thoughts often floated to his fellow marksdwarf being shot and killed with merciful efficiency. Lifting his head, he stared thoughtfully at the corner of the dining hall, shaking his head as he could hardly believe the claims the miners made that the chasm branched without warning into the hall as they were digging it out. He noted the chasm, and muttered to himself about how it'll be trouble one day and that they should have made a new dining hall, but due to a time crunch they had to make do with it, and from there it just grew to be the grand hall he now sat in. As he took a slow look around, he dreaded about what Alath, the historian would engrave on the natural pillars of the hall, as she tended to be quite macabre about her works. As he slowly turned his head about, he finally settled his gaze back at the exposed corner of the dining hall and the three ratmen clambering out of it. Screaming to the scant few dwarves in the dining hall to run and get reinforcements, the marksdwarf jumped atop his chair and began firing. Cursing as he struck the pillar, he took aim again and shot true as he shot down a ratman as it clawed at the nearby door, trying to get back on it's feet. So intent on the kill however, the marksdwarf failed to see the two ratmen run down the dining room and barrel out the door, to find a hapless child. Screaming for it's parents, the child attempted to run down the noble's quarters of the city. But before the chase could really begin, it was tragically cut short as a ratman jumped to the other side of the child, pinning it between the two and cruelly cutting short it's life. Meanwhile at the dining hall, the dwarf shouted in triumph as the ratman gave it's dieing breath and slumped against the door, only to curse out loud as more ratmen clawed their way up out of the chasm. Startled dwarves coming from the food storage screamed and ran back into the storage as the marksdwarf, too ran into the storage. The ratmen, heading out the north exit, ran up a narrow hall which led to the main 'hall, finding the main hall filled with dwarves oblivious to the onslaught of the ratmen. As they neared the exit into the main hall, war dogs flung themselves around the corner, tearing into the ratmen savagely while seemingly out of nowhere, the macedwarves bore down on them, reducing their heads to literal pulp. However, one of the ratmen had snuck past the busy macedwarves and dogs and ran down toward the chasm, squealing in rat menace as he chased hapless peasants. As he approached the bridge, it had turned briefly to find more war dogs bearing down on it and before it could react, one of the dwarves ran up to it's side and pushed it down the chasm, sending the ratman to a long, horrible drop to a pointy end. General curses and shouts rang throughout the fortress as the dwarves couldn't believe the tragedy of this single season. Just as things seemed to settle down, screams rang from the mines as a lone dwarf, hauling metal for future forging, ran down the narrow path, determined to outrun the unbelievable group of 8 ratmen hungry for the kill. Careful not to fall into the magma river from the very narrow path, the dwarf ran down toward the forges and into the hall and smirked in partial disbelief as marksdwarves, speardwarves, and macedwarves ran across the chasm bridge, albeit slowly due to heavy armor in an attempt to cut off the ratman surge from the mines. Laughing to himself about how the military was finally springing to action, the dwarf decided to save the rest of his breath and continued running toward the military, determined to outrun the ratmen fast on his heels. In another bizarre twist, the military, hungry for vengeance stared in disbelief as a horde of dogs and war dogs loped past them and rushed toward the ratmen. While relieved the dogs finally sprang into action, they were disappointed as they were going to be robbed of vengeance yet again. In a short amount of time, the dogs and ratmen closed ground quickly and what followed was righteous vengeance as the ratmen yelped in pain and fear as the war dogs tore into them, ripping them into chunks and felling ratmen left and right. In but a few short, brutal moments the carnage was over and what was left were all the ratmen, dead in several bloody, disemboweled heaps and the dogs, standing over the corpses, trotting off to go about their doggy business. To the dwarves' amazement, not one of the dogs were killed, although one had several broken bones, it was still in in a state of animal rage from the battle, refusing to let it's wounds hold it back from it's hungry vengeance.

Chapter 2  Spring

It was 1056 of the Golden Age. The dwarves were finally recovering from last season's siege. The catapults were reloaded, the traps reset, and work was finally back in order. Even the sight of the tree-hugging elves in their two lone caravans was a positive, uplifting sight to the dwarves. But as they ran out to greet their neighbors, the unthinkable happened. In the distance, two large groups of goblins came, brandishing more weapons, bringing more troops, and even calling in their masters and lords, though mercifully there were fewer bowmen and they had no leader to call. The dwarves, enraged at such a siege so soon after the first called for another general alarm and busied themselves ushering the others inside the fort. The call came out for the dwarves to launch their catapults but once again few, if any responded to the call, and even then they had to wade through the traffic of dwarves, dogs, calves, and cows. By the time the first stones were launched one group was already at the road again rushing toward the outside bridge, though this time there was no choking miasma to hinder their vision. As the dwarves continued launching their stones, a kobold thief was spotted amongst the goblin horde and was shot down ruthlessly in a hail of arrows by the goblin archers. Unbelievably, all but one stone missed their mark, though this time the stone that hit gravely wounded the macegoblin, obliterating his upper body and damaging his lungs, making his last few seconds painful indeed. Again the goblins reached the doorway and began to fire inward at the dwarves who were busy drinking themselves into a stupor. Despite the initial fleeing down toward safety, the dwarves were desperate for a drink to tide them over and ignored the booze inside in favor of the booze by the door where the goblins were. Among these stupid dwarves was the historian, Alath Ragclam. The dwarves were running in literal circles, first to try and grab one more drink, and then to flee from the goblin arrows only to turn around and try to grab their drinks once more. The goblin arrows were inaccurate yet again, and fewer dwarves were killed, but the carnage was still great and many dwarves lay wounded or dieing. The marksdwarves were quick to act, sealing the door and preventing any dwarves from rushing out to their untimely demise in an attempt of heroism. As the last dwarf outside ran in with a wounded Alath, the marksdwarves grimly locked the double doors and braced for a goblin charge. The goblins were quicker to rush inside to attack the hapless civilians left in the main hall due to their stupidity in wanting a last drink of booze, and again the clever dwarven traps sprang into action. Cutting down goblins with ruthless efficiency, the goblins were left flailing helplessly in the hall, though the leadership of the goblin mace lords, sword masters, and pikemasters managed to corral some of the troop inward, though the last row of traps, two cage traps managed to capture a spearmaster and a crossbow goblin. As a goblin swordsman reached the double doors however, intent on killing the civilians banging desperately against the door, it turned around to regard it's goblin comrades and noticed they had broke and ran, fleeing from the deadly traps. Confused, the goblin swordsman wandered around the hall, glaring at the dwarves but not quite springing into action for some strange reason, and that was when it was suddenly buried in a mass of fur and teeth and claws. The dwarves, with a resounding sigh began work on cleaning up the traps and taking care of the mess, though with some grim satisfaction they noted that fewer dwarves managed to rush out to their deaths. As cleanup commenced, a peasant was tasked with leading the captured goblin spearmaster to it's new home in the dungeon. As it led the rebellious creature through the halls, it was followed by a trail of war dogs, hungry for the kill, wanting to avenge their fallen masters and friends while the dwarves jeered, kicked, and taunted the goblin spearmaster as it was led through the hall, followed by a train of dogs and dwarves. As the peasant strapped on the last few shackled of the spearman, the worst scenario happened. The dwarves, inexperienced with prisoners, didn't expect the goblin spearmaster to strike at them from it's chains, but they stood dumbfounded as the spearmaster slayed dog after dog after dog. By the time the fortress guard came in to put the spearmaster down, it was standing on a literal hill of dog corpses and challenged the fortress guard as they came forth along with more war dogs. The fortress guard in this mountain hall had no weaponry or armor, so that all efforts would go to arming the actual military. With a grim sense of duty the ill-equipped fortress guard attempted to bring down the spearmaster through sheer numbers but all were cut down with brutal savagery. The spearmaster by now was hooting and hollering, laughing at how the stupid dwarves failed to take all necessary precautions in handling the goblin spearmaster. It's laughter grew as more fortress guard charged in to take care of the spearmaster, but just as it was about to defend itself again with glee, it noticed that a dwarf positioned itself on the other side of the room and readied a crossbow. Screaming with fury, the spearmaster struck down more dogs and fortress guard but was now suffering from numerous bolts protruding from it's body. As the spearmaster finally fell to fists, canine teeth, and bolts, the dwarves outside were yelling and screaming about the poor precautions taken and the massive amount of death the goblin caused. It had slain an amazing 16 war dogs and 6 dwarves, one of them being the leader of the speardwarves. The dwarves learned from their bloody, cruel lesson and decided that all prisoners would be put in cages rather than chains. How ironic that the majority of the death would come after the siege and not during. But there was yet one more tragedy to befall the dwarves. In the midst of the miasma and death, a kobold thief had snuck inside and managed to grab Thestarnoglesh, The Crimson Savage which ironically was nothing more than a marble mug, though the thief was content with such an artifact. A lone war dog took chase as the thief hooted and laughed, running away with the artifact of untold value. With a wave of it's hand clutching the mug, the thief ran off into the tropical swamps, losing the dog that was fast on it's heels. Some time later the incoming spring migrants along with the nobles were greeted with a spectacular, brutal site. Dwarves were hauling both goblin corpses, dog corpses, and dwarf corpses en masse. Miasma was clouding up the entrance and entrance hall again. Blood was everywhere as was vomit. Goblins were digustingly stuck to weapon traps and hung limply in the air with embedded serrated discs, spiked balls, corkscrews, and axe blades. The dwarves at work with the corpses wore grave expressions, though none of them were saddened, it was more of a stoic, determined expression. And so with this new bloody season entering it's middle month, the story of Tombgeniuses continues...

(Ok, basically, those were my very first experiences with sieges, and I must say it was quite fun and funny, not to mention epic, especially when my engraver braved the gauntlet of arrows to rescue a fisherdwarf. And then there was the imprisoning of the spearmaster, I originally thought that chains didn't let prisoners strike out despite being able to move around, well looks like I was sorely mistaken.)

----
===Vucar the woodcrafter<sup>DF</sup>===

This is the brief story of Vucar, who longed for wood to create a great carving.

Unfortunately, we forgot to bring an axe with us, so even with the abundant trees outside, no one can cut one down. So we've no logs for him, and no way to get any for seasons.

So some trouble was expected of Vucar. Everyone avoided his workshop, and the miners (incredibly buff from digging out the entire fortress with just picks) formed themselves into a military squad led by one of the original six dwarves.

The squad was just returning from having quickly dug a huge room below the farm plots, and as they bounded up the stairs to grab a drink, they heard the screams of the other dwarves as they fled from Vucar's sudden and violent outburst.

Rushing to the rescue, they rapidly made short work of Vucar with their picks. To these legendary cutters of raw stone, flesh cannot stand. As they stepped back from their sad work, they reflected that while it was good it was quick for him, and no one else was hurt . . . it was very unfortunate that they caught him right in the middle of the barracks. Blood had sprayed all over the smooth floors, and formed quickly congealing pools. Worst of all, the only two beds in the entire fortress of twenty dwarves were coated in blood and dwarf intestines.

"Someone call the butcher!" hollered the squad-leader Tulon.

And then they went back to work. After all, if the farm isn't working soon, they'll all starve during the next winter.

----
===Memadamt Thatthilkebul Toral<sup>DF</sup>===

On the 11th of slate, 1055 Zan Ingishsodel, a newly arrived carpenter to Alathaved entered a Fey mood.  He commandeered the only carpenter's shop in the Outpost, and proceeded to demand many wooden logs and even a cut gem.  He horded 4 logs, and the first cut gem, a Lapis Lazuli.  He worked for days, every Dwarf wondered what he would make.  Would it be a table?  Maybe a great door, or even a ornate wooden shield.  They were all wrong, when Zan finally emerged from his shop.  Everyone held their breath as he proclaimed "It is done, Memadamt Thathilkebul Toral (Reinedbent the Autumnal Sparkle of Laws) the greatest Barrel in the land is complete!"  The barrel was made of Acacia, decorated with Palm, encircled with bans of Lapis Lazuli, adorned with hanging rings of Palm and menaces with spikes of Acacia.

Some say it's a masterpiece, others say it's a waste of wood when it's such a scarce resource in the region.  All Dwarves can agree that it looks great, with Dwarven Rum pouring out of it.

----
=== You don't want to go to the desert<sup>DF</sup> ===
7 dwarves  arrived in the vast red sand desert hoping to start a new life far from the mountainhomes. In the distance Todol, the parties engineer, spotted two dark towers.

“Hey look!  A Human outpost,” he remarked.

And as the band of dwarves approached they saw a littering of trinkets in the sand, evidently dropped by the humans that had settled this area. Slightly mangled earrings and scepters, as well as bracelets and instruments littered the crimson dunes. Trinkets and darker things as well. Human skull idols that had been smoothed by the sands of time lay half-burried, their empty eye sockets gazing at the interloping dwarves on their trek to the towers.

The dwarves spied the first human they had seen in months and approached, but this was no human. Rotting flesh still clung uselessly to the bones of this former swordsman. As it’s dull lifeless eyes turned on the dwarves the ghouls mouth dropped open to utter, “Hraaaaaaah.”

PANIC! The dwarves scattered only to realize they’d been surrounded by the undead stalkers. One by one they dropped in the sand, to be consumed by the ever hungry zombies, leaving behind only their ruined clothes and a cart full of rotting supplies. So let this be a lesson to you: You don’t want to go to the desert.