Difference between revisions of "ASCII art reward/M-S"

to the ground sputtering. Rognar had been born into a world of

summit of the corpse mound and surveyed the carnage. The siege had

been broken. Here and there, a wimpering slave of darkness put up

battlefield. Rognar smiled. It was a great day to be a dwarf.

He would never let the fiend escape again. That was what Neandar the

after the skulking kobold thief. For many seconds they fell, time

Fortress Guard. Wet matter slammed into the dwarf's face and gave

way. The dwarf smashed through a dozen giant spider webs and hit the

A huge standing ring of fire dominated the floor of the chasm. The

kobold made for the hell portal with all speed. Neandar stopped in

his tracks. It was one thing to plunge to certain death in order to

retrieve a granite puzzle box. It was quite another to cast oneself

into a dimension of ultimate evil. Yet these kobold cowards could not

be allowed to run about as they pleased. Lifting his axe over his

them. Shizenbubin was the tracker of the group, always hot on the

trail of danger. Shizentubin was her sister, skilled in the ways of

the blade so that no enemy neck was safe. Azoul Buck was the leader.

This would be a short quest indeed. A party of goblins had ambushed

the prince on his way to the castle. All the heroes need do is return

him unspoiled. It would be easy to intercept them then on their way

to the Black Fortress, given Shizenbubin's incredible skill. However,

time was not on their side. Goblins grew bored easily and might make

sport of the prince's bodily members. Azoul set the pace, a quick

trot through the woods. She smiled at the easily-won glory that

block which he had just slid into place. Ever since the Baron had insisted

rats. It couldn't be helped. Gold was gold after all, but it was just

The dwarf laid down on his bed and began to think about the next project. A

puzzlebox, perhaps, something challenging. Just as Doran was drifting off

"Ha! Keep trying you little demons," the dwarf chuckled. The scratching

continued. It was irritating, but the dwarf could block it out. Then there

was a grating scrape as the block moved an inch. The dwarf sat up and

stared at the wall in amazement. Impossible, he thought.

The block slid forward further. Small, clawed fingers worked their way

stabbing downward. The tool grazed the hand, leaving a spatter of blood on

the stone. There was a shriek, and the bleeding hand disappeared into the

hand. After a moment, the scratching began anew.

"Leave me be, you fiend!" Doran yelled, his chisel held toward the stone

block. The scratching became louder and more persistent.

crack. The beast had learned. The slab of granite was being pushed

directly from behind, and it glided slowly toward Doran. The dwarf backed

The block stopped sliding. There was now enough space to allow something to

not see behind it. For a long moment, nothing stirred. The craftsdwarf

At once, a creature leapt from behind the block and faced Doran. It was a

patchy-furred flesh stretched tight over its starved body. The thing

The dwarf stood, a vial in his hand. The ratman lunged forward and Doran

hurled the vial at the beast's face. The glass shattered, and the creature

clutched its black protruding eyes as they steamed. Doran rushed forward

"Pity about that. I was going to ask Mul to do some etchings for me."

pausing to take another swig of whiskey. "I can't believe how much trouble

replied. "Kogan's child was taken not long ago."

Meanwhile, Kogan stood with his axe by the chasm bridge. Ever since the boy

spiders. He would not be satisfied until the depths were devoid of life.

A foul wind blew up from the chasm. Kogan leaned to the side and peered

down over the edge of the bridge. The impact was sudden and the dwarf was

knocked on his back in the middle of the bridge. Kogan heard the sound of

"I am innocent of these crimes!" cried Fuglin as he was dragged away. Sitting in the dungeon cell, he could recall the cheers of the dwarves as the judge pronounced the verdict. It wasn't fair. The adamantine wasn't his. He was just holding it for somebody. Now in prison, he was left to rot. A guard stopped by his cell and poured a cup of gruel on the cold stone floor. Anger and despair were all he felt now. From now on he dared not hope.

It had begun as such a small thing. Fuglin and the goblin had known each other since the construction of the fortress. Fuglin was young then.

"You know the path through the stone?" said the goblin. "The one we built as children? You must go there and bring me what you find. It is the key to my release."

The space was not built for more than a child, a narrow, twisting tunnel winding its way through the foundations of the fortress. At the bottom, Fuglin saw a light, a silvery glowing rock at the end of the tunnel. This must be it, thought Fuglin, a bribe to set the goblin free. Hastily, Fuglin took up his pick and chiseled off a piece of the silver metal.

Something lay beyond the tunnel. A hole the size of a dwarf's fist opened where Fuglin struck. He could hear a strange howling within, no doubt another subterranean jungle. The dwarf didn't stay to find out. He squirmed as fast as he could, finally reaching the exit where he found the goblin, free from his bonds.

"You survived," said the goblin. "Keep the adamantine as a token of our friendship."

What happened next was hard to say. There was a lot of smoke and fire. Dwarves ran screaming through the fortress. Captains shouted orders to soldiers they could not see through the clouds of burning vapor. Fuglin was scared beyond reason. He tried to follow the others, ducking when the monsters swooped down.

It seemed it would never end, then Fuglin came rolling out of the fortress gate just as another fire blast rocketed overhead. As it was, the demons could not, or would not set foot outside the fortress. What few dwarves that were left gathered at the hills below. Fuglin recognized a blacksmith which with he had apprenticed. Before he could speak the blacksmith pointed his finger.

"He is the one!" the dwarf cried. "Look! He still has the rock in his paw!"

It was the goblin, dressed in a dark cloak. Fuglin had blamed his

pointless. In the morning, he would go to the hammerer to be forged

anew. Fuglin began to wonder why the goblin showed up at all if not

bite down with your teeth. Death will come swiftly."

The goblin dropped the pill into Fuglin's open hand. The fluid in the

green glass capsule looked black and foreboding. Still, it beat a

humiliating public execution. The goblin turned and left without

saying another word. Fuglin put the pill in his mouth and bit down

hard. A moment's dizziness was all he had time to experience.

"Quiet," said the goblin. "We are in the catacombs. The dwarves

"You can take that up with your deity later," said the goblin. "For

==[[User:Midelne|Midelne]]==

They called him Fish-Dwarf.  He was the only worker in the outpost willing to brave the depths of the cave river in order to service the floodgate mechanisms when they became clogged with the seasonal muds.

It was that time again.  The farming gates weren't operational, and the planting had to begin immediately.  Fish-Dwarf had his tools, and the special fins he had manufactured were secured to broad feet.  Everything was ready.  The frightened faces of the onlooking children would not dissuade him.  Fish-Dwarf understood that this was his calling.  He was the only one that could save the outpost.  The dwarf inhaled, and his chest swelled to nearly double its original size. Clearing his mind, the dwarf dove into the water.

The swollen rotting face of a lizardman greeted him, twisted into the gears.  Not again, Fish-Dwarf thought, dejected.  It would take at least three trips to dislodge all of the chunks.  The dwarf removed the chisel from his tool case and began working it into the sticking jam.

"Fish-Dwarf, you have saved us!" the children shouted as the wet dwarf

pulled his way up on to the bank. He had finished his last cleaning

run, and already the floodgate was rising, ushering in the waters that

would prepare the way for the summer harvest.

"Truly, Fish-Dwarf, your mastery of the murky depths never ceases to

amaze us. You are a hero," the Mayor Kogan said, offering Fish-Dwarf

a mug of the outpost's best.

"I am glad I could help," Fish-Dwarf said, draining the mug in one

motion.  "If only the river waters were whiskey, my life would be

"I fear we would never see you again if that were the case!" the Mayor jested.

Fish-Dwarf pondered a moment. "Indeed.  Yet the search for the

Whiskey River is a quest for the young, I'm afraid."

"We here at Gladanvil are happy to have you," the Mayor replied as the

crowd dispersed. As the others left, the mayor pulled Fish-Dwarf

"-- and yet, I fear you cannot stay long. I've received word from

the Mountainhome has conveyed his request for your presence at the

"It isn't farming trouble, Fish-Dwarf," the Mayor said, lowering his

voice to a whisper. "Many fisherdwarves have been lost to the waters.

There is something lurking in the Lake of Columns."

cavern, many dipping down through the still surface of the black

waters. This was the Lake of Columns, the source of life for

Steelpoint, and now a place of dread.

Fish-Dwarf fit the blades into place on his fins. The citizens of

fisherdwarves had been lost at the shore. No matter, thought

and that is what he would do.  Still, the nature of the creature

occasionally harassed his own community. Steelpoint would not have

sent for him over such a triviality. Hefting his mighty trident,

Fish-Dwarf nodded to the gathered onlookers before leaping into the

The water was clear, and he could see the broad columns well ahead of

Behind any of these formations, the beast could lurk.

manner of beast was this?  Great tentacles it had, and a toothy maw

of the dead.

Fish-Dwarf was almost upon it now, his trident lifted above his head

as he sank slowly toward the sleeping fiend. As he prepared to

strike, the lurid thing's lone eye flashed open.

Tentacles lashed out, looping around Fish-Dwarf's torso and pinning

his arms to his chest. A force stronger than any he had ever

mouth as the breath was squeezed from his body. Fish-Dwarf

desperately slashed at the tentacles with his fin blades and as his

vision faded to black he saw that the water was thick with curling

purple ribbons of the foul beast's tainted blood. The monster's grip

loosened and Fish-Dwarf was able to free his arms.  His sight had not

deep into the creature.  The monster's body convulsed and it raced

into the open water, Fish-Dwarf still clinging to the imbedded weapon.

Fish-Dwarf thought, though the beast continued on into the depths at

such speed that the diver could not maintain his bearings, and

suddenly in the back of his mind arose a strange sensation...  it was

the need for air, such as he had not experienced for many years. A

as he became more desperate for breath, and yet slowly, his vision was

returning.

The beast slowed, its energy spent, and it settled on to the lake

bottom, unmoving.  Fish-Dwarf jammed the trident into it a few times;

the thing was dead. Now, the surface!  Fish-Dwarf pulled his weapon

from the monster and swam upward, but he stopped immediately. As far

as he could see in the now-dark water, a smooth ceiling of limestone

bottom, so far and so deep that the light from the gem lamps was no

<pre>,@!,.~~~~~~~~</pre>  

He had chosen the wrong direction. Either that or the beast had

underworld were closer than the light of the lamps. His breath was

long since gone -- moving forward was all that could keep him from

panicking. After every few kicks, the dwarf would reach up to feel

the limestone. If anything, the rock was closing in. No... what's

it firmly with both hands and pulled, launching himself upward.

The dwarf fully expected to meet a wall of rock, but instead he glided

freely until at long last he broke the surface of the water, gasping

for air. As the dwarf calmed down, he realized that he could still

see nothing. He felt walls close by in all directions, as if he had

just swum up a shaft, though there was a ledge overhanging the water

on to which he could haul himself and rest his weary body. Fish-Dwarf

passed in and out of consciousness for a time, perhaps an hour, before

he sat up and assessed his situation.  

was often thick, Fish-Dwarf had not trudged through so much as a

could just as easily be the cooking fires of a goblin encampment, or

some darker torture, as the lights of the capital he sought. There

they were, even now... lights! Or light at least, the barest speck

same. The speck became an opening, and he could see the mud of the

passage floor illuminated in the distance, with stone walls further

beyond. Only a few more steps...  

honey, yet the current flowed rapidly. And the aroma! The

intoxicating aroma! There was no question in his mind. Whether it

fell from the throne of some inebriated sky god and vanished into the

home, Fish-Dwarf made his way down to the riverside to drink his fill.

<pre>,..,.++U+,.+,.+U~U||</pre>

Suffering blighted the land with cruel hunger. Wagons brought foul

fungus from the dwarven mountains. It was barely enough to sustain

those base enough to eat such filth. The rest died.  Paldadar rested

against the hilt of his great sword.  He looked over his shoulder at

the dark stone castle. Turning his back on mud brick huts, the knight

passed by the scraggly bearded guards and entered the keep.

reached for his cup, and after taking a sip, spat the vile dwarven

brew unto the stone floor. A herald in a mud-smattered tunic rushed

to wipe up the spill, but seeing the knight, rose to confront him.

"You were not summoned, Sir Paldadar," spit the herald. "Go ask the

peasants instead of begging the king for scraps from the royal table."

"Silence, Rodger," said the king.

The herald jumped away like a whipped dog.  The king motioned the

knight to come forward.

"The gods have abandoned this place," said the king. "Only through

their glory will the days of bounty return. It is for this reason you

must smite the heathen Farthlings where they dwell across the river.

When their land is in ruin, the gods at last will favor us."

doing.  But perhaps there was wisdom in punishing the arrogant

Farthlings for their many insults. Death by the sword was much

preferable to slow certain death by starvation.

<pre>==?T?====,.UH,.U</pre>

faces.  He was still a knight, even if he represented the most

Paldadar prayed to the gods for mercy.  Would that a Farthling's bolt

find his heart soon that he be saved from further tortures. Together

the pair made their way to the Temple of Love, where High Priest

surrounding an enormous stone stele, pricking the sky with its

majesty.  All around the temple, peasants scrambled to snatch at the

Paldadar entered the temple, he was surrounded by fat priests and

priestesses that danced around him in a grotesque, undulating display.  

"When you wake in the morning," said Igland, "consider Love."

wooden planks.

===(3 July 2008)===

<pre>%,..%,.|%.,.UH,%..%%UH,,%.~%,..(%).,.%|,..%</pre>

Green flames shot up from beneath the bridge. Horrid laughter pealed

across the blighted landscape. The knight turned to see Rodger making

tracks back to the temple with the speed of a spooked hare. Slowly

Paldadar looked over his shoulder to see the enormous bloated troll,

dripping with slime and black pus.

love," said the troll. "What will you tell them, knight?  Is slow

"Where there is life, there is hope," said Paldadar. "Love will

"Spoken like a true student of Igland," said the troll, assuming a martial pose.

As Paldadar cut the monster down, his mind was wracked with doubt.

Was the nation of love superior?  He hailed from a place where young

people sold themselves for scraps of bread and yet he sought to bring

hope to a strange country.  He found Rodger hiding in a nearby bush

and hauled him, protesting, across the bridge.

The land of the Farthlings was lush and green compared to the land of

love.  Cherry blossoms rained down on the two riders as they wound

their way through the hills. Even in these pleasant surroundings, the

demented nature of the Farthlings soon became evident. Bodies dotted

the road here and there, swords plunged into their own guts. Corpses

hung in the trees from hastily-tied nooses, over eager to take their

from the grass to watch them saunter on.

"Make babies, make babies, make babies," babbled Rodger, madly

reciting the Charm of Making.

rose petals through the cold, dead streets. Even the cheerful sun

as they made their way to the keep, careful not to look into the dark

doorway, behind which ominous rustlings could be heard.

The flag of Farthlingland flew above the ramparts of the citadel. At

hopelessly thrown themselves over the side. A wide moat circled the

castle. As the two riders approached, a draw bridge was lowered over

the water. Paldadar thought he could see a crowned figure on the wall

beckoning them inside. As they crossed the bridge, Rodger made the

mistake of looking down into the water.  The currents were filled with

the souls of those who drowned themselves in desperate sorrow. Eyes

shut tight, Rodger hugged the neck of his horse, and followed Paldadar

into the gate.

"I hereby claim this feast hall in the name of the Tombs of Wailing!"

they saw the multitude of warriors the stranger had brought with her,

cheered while their victorious leader sat upon the throne. With no

lay claim to the fortress town of Otla.

<pre>"",",.@,.T,"""</pre>

"Don't let the sun set on you in the Dark Wood," said the dwarf

and his mischief.

Not even the elves dared enter the Wood at night. Something older

than time haunted these cursed trees, but this valley was the quickest

way to Port City, saving at least a month of travel. As the night

grew darker and colder, Davik fumbled in his pack to retrieve the

charms and idols he had nearly refused as the journey began.

A great shape emerged from the darkness.  It was a gnarled troll, as

old as the hills.  It picked up Davik by the ankle.

"Not much meat here," it said.

"Please, Ole Brick-a-Branch, don't eat me," said Davik.

Having said his name, the troll was force to lay the dwarf down.

<pre>=@()++@</pre>

Doran stirred the bubbling pot of syrup.  It was ready!  "Pour, pour, pour!" the dwarf sang.  Into the molds the syrup flowed.  "Another batch," the dwarf said, satisfied.

Just then, he noticed somebody standing in the doorway.  "Ah, Glornol. What brings you to the kitchens this early?  Come to try a sticky treat?  I have some Anvil Drops cooling now. Just a moment."

Doran turned to the tray on the table when he was startled by Glornol's shouting. "What is the meaning of this?  Isn't there a war on?"

"Even soldiers need sticky treats, Glornol!"  Doran picked up two chocolate goblins and began to speak in a high-pitched throaty voice.

"Ooo, it's Glornol!" the first chocolate goblin said.

"The dwarf might eat me instead!  Oh no!" the second chocolate goblin replied. Doran held the goblin out to Glornol.

Glornol was not amused, but he snatched the candy from Doran's hand.  "Hrmph," he grunted, and biting the goblin's head off, he walked out of the kitchen.

<pre>...@T@..###S#</pre>

They did not notice as they drained their mugs that they were being watched from the shadows

by clusters of pale eyes. A table by the chasm?!

Dolan was chatting with Aliz about the health benefits of dwarven beer when Aliz disappeared.

translucent silk wrapped around his left ankle. At the lip of the chasm, a bloated form slowly

reeled the line in with her spindly legs. 

He grabbed his axe and ran toward Aliz, who was now only a few more pulls from the beast.

:&mdash; [[User:Qwip|Qwip]] 08:40, 9 February 2007 (EST)

<pre>@@@...@.####

</pre>

Aliz, still dazed from his initial fall, slowly made his way to his feet.  Seeing Dolan's desperate

struggle, he drew his sword and hacked at one of the Wolf-Mother's legs.  The bumpy skin was

incredibly tough, but the steel blade left the appendage hanging by tatters.  The Wolf-Mother

belched a grating rasp and rolled away from Aliz and faced the dwarves.  Dolan crawled toward his

axe, but the nauseating venom drenching his face and beard had left him almost powerless.  The

Wolf-Mother hesitated, her wound oozing white ichor as Aliz stood his ground.

There were several sharp cracking noises, and the Wolf-Mother crumpled, several iron bolts

protruding from her many eyes.  In the distance stood Bomtek and the other marksdwarves,  

accompanied by Kogarak.  Aliz rushed to Dolan.  The dwarf was breathing heavily.

"My body feels like gravel.  I need a drink," Dolan said.

"The Wolf-Mother is dead.  Brace up.  I'll bring you your mug."  Aliz fetched Dolan's mug from

the table and brought it to the dwarf where he lay on the stone floor.  The mug was almost empty.

"The brood," Dolan whispered.  "The night brood will come."

<pre>.B@.~~~

</pre>

<pre>,.,B@~,~,~</pre>

"Whiskey?" Alor asked the boar, holding up his flask. The wrestler had not spoken for a week.

"Gladly," the boar said, taking the flask up in its mouth. "You block my path to the river, and now you offer me your flask.  Strange are the ways of your people."

"Your path?  I was seeking to cross the river and found myself menaced," Alor said.

"The squirrels tell me I am a terror to behold when I am thirsty," the boar said as it drained the flask. "Do I menace you now?"  The boar looked mild and plump. Indeed, the gentle creature reminded Alor of his daughter.  

"No, I am not menaced. I am reminded of home," Alor said fondly.  At that moment his stomach growled, for he had not eaten in some time.

"Hopefully I do not remind you of your dinner table," the boar laughed, "though it remains to be seen who would have the final mastery in our contest."  Alor smiled broadly and the boar guided Alor to the ford, where they parted as friends.

"Daddy!  Daddy!" the little girl cried happily as she ran toward the mighty dwarf where he stood under the archway.

"I missed you, sweet pod!" Alor crouched down and lifted the child up to his shoulder, where she sat, beaming. "Have you been good while I was away?"

"I made a puzzle box.  See!"  The girl held out a soapstone box.  The master craftsdwarf always started the young ones with the material since it required little strength to carve, though it crumbled easily.  Even so, the box was quite exquisite.  

"That's beautiful. Now let me see here..."  Alor pressed a button and the lid popped open. There was nothing inside.  "Hey, where's my treasure?" he said in mock indignation.

The girl took the box and made a series of complicated motions along the inside of the empty compartment.  A second lid opened, revealing a piece of dwarven sugar candy.  The child giggled and smiled broadly.  

Alor scratched his head and laughed. Coren was only six, but she was already beyond him.

"I met a talking boar and we became friends."

"I'll invite them over for your party next month. Until then, you have to work hard. Do you have a lesson today?"

"Yes. Mr. Goldlocket says he'll let me try marble today."

"Marble, eh?  That's amazing. You really are your mother's daughter. I'll walk you to the shop."  Together they strolled down the passageway.  Alor admired the carvings and architecture, occasionally pointing an engraving out and explaining its history, though his daughter had heard it all before.  It had been two months since he left for tournament, and the wrestler had missed his home very much.  

"The three of us should have a feast tonight.  What do you say?" Alor asked.  Coren did not respond.

 

The dwarf looked down. His daughter was not there. She was not in the passageway.  There was no sign of her.

 

"Goblins!" A scream echoed through the tunnels.  "Goblins in the fortress!"

 

 

<pre>,..|mBL@+++++++g+</pre>

"I'm sure she's in there," Alor said from his place behind the boulder where he looked down upon the rusted iron doors of Chatteltomb.

 

"We must act now, while there's still time," the boar urged.  This was the same boar that Alor had befriended by the riverbank, and it now came to aid Alor in his time of need.  

"The door is locked. Even with our combined strength, I doubt we can force entry," the leopard observed. This was the same leopard that Alor had befriended in the high grasses, and it also came to aid Alor in his time of need.  

 

"Don't worry. The guards were drunk in the ravine below," the marmot announced as it scampered up the slope with the key in its mouth.  This was the same marmot that Alor had befriended on the mountainside, and it came to aid Alor after promises of food.

 

"I've only challenged the depths of this black pit once in my life. It is a memory I have longed to forget, though it will serve me now," Alor said. "It sickens me that my daughter is kept there.  The way to the dungeons will not be heavily guarded, as fear of this place keeps all but the foolish at bay.  That said, the tower above is garrisoned with unnumbered horrors.  If the alarm is raised, escape will be impossible."

 

The group made their way down to the entrance. With some effort, Alor forced the key into place. The great doors swung open with a grating noise, exposing a palpable darkness that hung heavy in the stale air like a fog of soot. The thick shadows were penetrated from beyond by sinister red lights which gave vague form to the smooth obsidian corridors.

 

Once all had passed into the tower, they closed the door behind them. "We can only hope it is not unusual for the doors to sound.  Do you see anything?" Alor whispered to the leopard.

"Several doors down, a goblin is standing," the leopard spoke softly. "It has turned to face us.  I don't think it can make us out yet, but its night eyes are almost as strong as my own.  It is coming this way."

Indeed, Alor could barely make out twin spots of crimson shining in the distance. The dwarf felt the leopard slip from his side. In a moment, the crimson spots disappeared from view. No sound accompanied their departure. Alor and the others padded quietly forward, approaching the stairway and the dungeons below.

 

The wayward manager Aliz stepped quietly down the last flight of stairs into the lowest depths of the abandoned halls.  The air of the room was stale and warm. The light of the dwarf's torch illuminated a stone pedestal, on which rested a gray book.

"The Tome of Suffering," Aliz whispered.  In its blood-stained pages, the collected wisdom of countless outpost managers waited for his perusal.  Never again would his charges starve.  Never again would they complain for want of whiskey.  Never again would Aliz have to consult the half-baked scribblings of his uncle Toran.

 

The ground shook and Aliz's ears were assailed by a deafening crash.  When the dust cleared, the entire chamber was illuminated by a sinister red glow. In place of the far wall was a yawning pit filled with bubbling magma and flames.  From the inferno came a betusked fiend, ravening, its slavering maw belching foul vapors through which stared its cruel bulging eyes.  Its clawed hands kneaded the lardy folds of its corpulence as if it sought to make room for this latest morsel.

 

Aliz was terrified.  The dwarf clutched the Tome to his chest.  The horrific beast crouched by the magma pool, muttering in a grating whisper:

 

"It will be eaten. It will be eaten, the dwarf.  Eaten.  Eaten alive."

  @@+,@\D/.+@

Fire seared the sky as the dragon circled, driven by madness and the

promise of gold held deep within the dwarven tunnels. Standing on the

battlements of the stone façade built over the entrance to the

fortress, Danrik the marksdwarf took aim at the evil target, his heart

thumping slow and steady.  He waited two more beats and pulled the

trigger.  An instant later a dozen marksdwarves let fly and a hail

bolts pierced the smoky air.

Most of the bolts bounced harmlessly away, but Danrik's well-aimed

missile found the monsters skull, shattering the brain. The dwarves

cheered as the beast fell from the sky.  The smile fell from Danrik's

face as the great corpse fell closer -- it was coming right at them!

Dwarves climbed over each other, making for the stairs.  Other risked

jumping from the wall, breaking their arms and legs as they landed.

Danrik stood fast.

As the dead dragon slammed into the fortress's stone wall the dwarves

were flung into the air. As Danrik flew, he damned the dragon with

all his might, his foul words ripped away by the wind.  With a sudden

crash, all went dark.

===(24 July 2008)===

  @@@++@+@@@@@@@@@@+,.%%%%|

"He's awoken," came the cry.  "He has awoken!"

Pain came as Danrik opened his eyes.  A crowd of gaudily-dressed

dwarves danced and sang in celebration of their hero.  It had been a

week since Danrik had fallen.  His comrades slapped him on the

shoulders. One brought him a chalice of wine.  The dragon was dead.

Every day since had been a celebration, but with the awakening of

Danrik, the party had really begun.

The mighty warrior made his way out of the bedroom, supported by two

lusty dwarf women.  The masons were hard at work restoring the wall

that the dead dragon had crashed through. The dwarf led Danrik to the

courtyard.

"Speech!" cried the dwarves, "Speech!"

"Oh," said Danrik, "Well…"