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

===(30 November 2015)===

Shouts could be heard further down the mine tunnel. None of the dwarves  

figured they had too much longer to live. The rules had been broken and  

the miners had begun to harvest adamantine from the forbidden ore vein.

At first it appeared that everything would be okay. The magic ore fell  

away from the tunnel wall leaving a black hole beyond. It didn't seem  

“We have to get out of here,” said Kogan. “Now.”

barked orders. The dwarves could smell smoke and the sounds of chaos  

were growing closer. Together, Kogan and the scribe made their way out  

of the library and through the twisting corridors of the fortress. As  

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

==[[User:Met|Met]]==

===(June 2011)===

<pre>||~@++%||@++++</pre>

"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.

One day Fuglin visited the goblin, this time locked in the stockade.

"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."

<pre>,.,.,.,.,@|#######&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&</pre>

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."

"Wait!" cried Fuglin, but the goblin had disappeared.

<pre>@@@@@,.,o@,..##||#&#&#&&&&#&</pre>

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.

"You have a visitor," said the prison guard.

"Take this glass pill," said the goblin, holding out his hand, "and

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.

"Where am I?" asked Fuglin.

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

believe you committed suicide."

 

"But I did commit suicide," mumbled Fuglin.

 

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

are discovered."

 

 

<pre>g@,.,.@@@></pre>

 

Why had he been rescued?  Fuglin was a traitor and had to be forged anew, but to do that, he had to die.  The goblin held his hand as they exited the tomb.  There was a family of dwarves mourning just outside. As they passed, the goblin held Fuglin close, pretending to be lovers lost in grief.  It worked this time, but in order to start a new life, they needed Fuglin to exchange his sackcloth for real clothes. The goblin led Fuglin through a maze of corridors to the fortress market.

 

“You look like a scribe to me,” said the goblin.

 

“Like those creeps that spend their whole lives in the library?” complained Fuglin.

 

===(November 2015)===

 

<pre>+++@p|</pre>

 

Writing prose under the pen name Robinor, Fuglin began his new life as a scribe.  Life was different out in the periphery. The monastery where the scribe worked was built into a hillside deep in the Forbidden Forest. Not many people would risk a journey there, but Robinor's works ended up being so skillful and filled with such beauty that he gained the one thing he could no longer afford, fame.

 

None of the brothers spoke to Robinor as they had all taken vows of silence, but the dwarf could still tell that they were pretty mad about all the visitors they had been attracting lately.  Robinor greeted his fans with the humility one would expect from a monk, but it was easy to tell that the dwarf was succumbing to the sin of pride.

One day, Robinor was praying in the shrine to Nadir when a bird landed on the creepy statue of the god of the depths. It was a parrot, out of place in the cold northern climate.  Robinor stood on his feet and walked over to the statue.

 

“Pretty bird,” said Robinor.  “Pretty bird.”

 

“You are all going to die,” said the parrot.

 

ladder.  Sharkra smiled, for this meant they had run out of ammunition

not, these dwarves would fight the death to save their blasted

mountain.  At last she reached the battlements.

Battle master Sharkra was an evil genius of combat. It was rumored

she had sacrificed everything she loved for riches and lost it all

gambling the same night.  Her very aura smelled of the underworld.

troop of mercenaries, the Unholy Band. This time is was rat-lord

Gomra that hired her.

 

Sharkra pulled herself onto the fortress wall. Members of the Unholy

Band leapt over the battlements, light on their feet. Together they

advanced on the dwarves. Sharkra wielded a giant mace, while the Band

pulled rapiers from polished sheaths.

“We have you,” said Sharkra. “Throw down your weapons and die quickly.”

Something sailed through the air and struck Sharkra in the face, a

glass flask filled with fuming liquid. The glass shattered sending

pain coursing through the evil woman’s body. She put her hand to her

face and it came back covered in slime.  She straightened up and

looked around.  The Unholy Band was laughing at her. Sadly, this

wasn’t the first time.

“What are you standing around for?” screeched Sharkra. “Kill them.”

 

The vain and evil Sharkra pulled a mirror from her pack which she

carried at all times. Her face was never much to begin with, but now

it was utterly ruined. Gomra, thought Sharkra, it is all his fault.

The warrior woman whistled and the Unholy Band followed her as she

retreated from the fortress.

“It is said,” intoned dwarf captain Duzelm, “that evil shall always

turn upon itself.”

“What is your plan master?” asked Bally, the dwarven squire.

“We shall follow this villain back to Lord Gomra,” said Duzelm “and

catch all the rats in the same trap.  Go to the humans in Gelthtown,

they have the quick steeds we require.”

horses, along with master rider Jorna. She was blond and lean, draped

horses and strapped themselves in.

“Are you sure you can keep up with the Unholy Band?” asked Captain Duzelm.

 

Jorna laughed.  “Just pray I don’t reach Gomra before Sharkra does,” she said.

 

 

 

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.

 

 

Fish-Dwarf swam down the narrow tunnel to the gate mechanism.  The water was murky and even with his superior vision he could only just see his hands sweeping ahead of him.

 

The upper portion of the mechanism appeared suddenly before him.  The dwarf inspected the machinery quickly, mindful of his air, yet confident that he had at least a few minutes left.  The top assembly was clear, so the mud must have worked itself into the lower gears.  Fish-Dwarf pushed his way down.

 

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.

 

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

complete."

"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

aside.

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

King Dorazar.  He has heard tell of your talents, and our liaison from

the Mountainhome has conveyed his request for your presence at the

capital."

"My presence?  Surely the engineers of the Mountainhome can manage the

mighty floodgates and channels of Steelpoint without my help."

"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."

 

Innumerable stalactites hung from the ceiling of the expansive gem-lit

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

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

Steelpoint did not know what the creature was, but no fewer than seven

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

occasionally harassed his own community. Steelpoint would not have

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

him down to where they joined the submerged floor of the cavern.

Behind any of these formations, the beast could lurk.

the lake bottom.  Fish-Dwarf swam closer, almost drifting. What

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

which flopped open as it slumbered, surrounded by half-consumed bodies

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.

 

<pre>------------------------

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

returned, but when he stabbed his trident downward, he felt it sink

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

tingling came to his throat and nose, and his head began to feel numb

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

greeted him. The monster had fled into a great crack in the lake

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

longer visible.  Just the endless water and rock of the submerged

tomb of Fish-Dwarf, he thought, as he chose a direction and swam.

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

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

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

he sat up and assessed his situation.  

to find the lamps, now unmolested by great underwater beasts, but he

did not relish the idea of leaving the entrance to the shaft behind in

total darkness as he explored the crevice below. The only alternative

mountain. Without hesitation, Fish-Dwarf struck out into the cavern.

-- How long since he had started on this dreary journey? Though the mud

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

puddle these many days. He thirsted for spirits, nay, even water, and

he longed to swim again. The dwarf had long since abandoned his fins

and other equipment as they encumbered him too much on the march.

Every so often, he imagined he saw the gem lamps ahead, though it

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

in the distance ahead. Fish-Dwarf moved swiftly, no longer plodding,

The cavern opened out upon a rocky river valley in a canyon sheer to

the greatest heights yet welcoming the noon-day sun. The entrance

where Fish-Dwarf stood was at the bottom of the cliffs a short walk

down pebble-laden slopes to the stream below. Instantly, Fish-Dwarf

could tell that these were no ordinary waters. They were the color of

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

of the Whiskey River. His mind unencumbered by thoughts of duty or

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.

From a high window, bright, mocking sunlight shone across the dark

wooden throne and the troubled king that sat upon it.  The old man

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

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

"Silence, Rodger," said the king.

knight to come forward.

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

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

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

The knight ground his teeth. This was obviously High Priest Igland's

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

wretched of kingdoms. A frail sissy approached from behind, leading

Rodger, wearing the snottiest of faces, his nose in the air.

"By the will of the king," he hissed, "I am to be your squire."

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

Igland waited to bless their holy crusade.

surrounding an enormous stone stele, pricking the sky with its

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

scraps donated by the monks that poured rotten food down the hill. As

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

The knight refused a cup of offered wine, which Rodger snatched up

"You must put an end to the Farthling menace," said the priest,

knight dismounted. Paldadar drew his sword and walked out onto the

wooden planks.

<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.

"You seek to pass into the land of suicide bearing the message of

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

choice?"

"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

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

and hauled him, protesting, across the bridge.

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

own lives.  As the riders passed, skeletal bodies lifted themselves

from the grass to watch them saunter on.

   

reciting the Charm of Making.

At last they reached the capital of the Farthlings. The wind blew red

seemed dim in the vast tomb of a city.  Rodger stared straight ahead

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

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

into the gate.

 

The flight across the sea had been a wild and dangerous one. The

missions. Just about the time the far coast had been sighted, the

the poor thing and it did its best to crash land on the beach. The

dwarves took inventory. All three of them, Uren, Doraj, and Aliza,

had survived with only minor injuries. They were now trapped on the

destined to be its undoing. Should one of the dark lords find it, it

would be weaponized and used to end the world. This was all supposed

to happen on the final day of the Plump Helmet Festival. That was in

"So here we are," said Doraj. "The Wild Lands. Did the seer give us

"You should have more respect for your elders," snapped Aliza. "If we

So the adventure began. There were only three dwarves in a land

world. There was no time to bury the body of the giant bird and news

of their spectacular entrance was bound to spread fast. Beyond the

covered peaks on the horizon. Wherever the fragment had ended up, it

found it. Doraj suggested they head for the tallest peak and they

the loyal troops withdrew and fled from the hall. The invaders

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

later. One of the defeated Hearthmen approached the king in his war

tent. Upon hearing of the warrior's failure, Urlen drew his sword and

struck off the coward's head. Urlen wasn't known to be reasonable

"Ready my chariot," commanded Urlen. "We will see how tough the Tombs

crones. "Ole Brick-a-Branch will get you." Nonsense, thought young

Davik as he rode his mule along the twisting green deer path. The

darkness came quickly as the sun slipped behind the trees. As he set

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

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

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

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

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.

"Let's eat the dwarf! Yummies for tummies!" the first chocolate goblin offered.

"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.

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.

Dolan knew immediately -- it was the Wolf-Mother of Darkness.

dropping his load, and ran toward the barracks. As he heard the sound of an axe ring against

The axe had scored the stone floor where it had severed the silk line. The Wolf-Mother chittered

angrily and pounced at Dolan, moving with surprising quickness. Dolan was knocked to the ground,

the enormous body of the foul creature pressing him into the stone. His axe clanged some distance

away. The blunt knobs at the end of the Wolf-Mother's forelegs dug into Dolan's ribs as her

dripping mandibles drew closer to his face. He grabbed her head with both hands, trying

desperately to keep her at bay. A foul-smelling spittle dripped on to his cheek.

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

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."

==[[User:Rewolf31|Rewolf31]]==

===(13 April 2007)===

<pre>.B@.~~~

And so Alor, a wrestler of renown, found himself between a great boar and the wide river. For six days they struggled, and as the sun descended behind the hills on the evening of the seventh day, Alor finally collapsed in exhaustion. The boar spoke and said, "I too am tired. The sun has fallen.  Let us rest."  And so Alor and the boar slept, and the sun arose on the morning of the eighth day.