Difference between revisions of "40d:Stories"

Revision as of 00:09, 4 March 2010

These are stories created by users based on their experiences in-game. They take what happened in-game, and go into more detail. Feel free to add your own!

Urdim's blowgun^DF

Urdim Kutamèrith, Pump Operator, has created Rakusttenshed, a Glumprong blowgun!

Urdim, you are a freaking idiot.

The Shellfish Diet^DF

The peasant ònul âtastïeb of Fortress Creaturechamber suddenly abandoned his hauling duties, kicked a mason out of his shop, and screamed for shells, eyes shining with a wild and frightening light. Most other times he'd be walled and locked in, but he'd picked the glassmaking level, crowded with skilled glassmakers and magma-rich, no room for barriers between the wall-to-wall workshops. They'd have to tear down his shop to wall it and that was deemed too risky, ònul was clearly unstable enough already...

Frantically digging through the food stockpiles, all their chef could find was a barrel of mussels in brine that'd sat untouched for three years running. Nobody wanted them before; nobody would even dare, now. Even after every other scrap of food in the fortress was expressly forbidden, nobody would touch them. Some folks began to starve. Others turned to a mysterious black-market supply of illicit dog meat... Time went on.

After a few days of waiting with bated breath, the mayor put the entire military on duty, marched them to their quarters, and locked them in with the barrel. After much yelling and screaming and trying to batter down the doors, the soldiers were forced to relent, prying off the lid and beginning their dubious meal.

Too little, too late. Mad shrieking was heard by the glass furnaces as the peasant gave up hope, funneling his fury on the fortress that had failed him, chasing terrified glassmakers in circles around the magma pipe. A war dog sprung to the attack to be instantly thrown down with mad strength, broken. Glassdwarves darted past and down a staircase while ònul, unseeing, continued to thrash the poor creature; looking up, the next and last thing he saw was Sodel Esdorsodel, the only soldier in the entire force not suffering from severe gastroenteritis, iron within and iron without.

Any Cost^DF

It was never known whether the cave-in was a freak accident, or a cruel product of design. Whether Fate, Chance, or some mortal brought it about, it was Sibrek who suffered for it. They hauled him to the barracks, his left leg broken, his right leg shaking and unsteady. The whispers outside the barracks doors said that his leg would heal, but his spine wouldn't; he would never walk quite right again, if lucky. It was possible he would never walk again.

Sibrek could hear them, and saw a grim future in store for him. He was one of the first seven to found Agebolts, and he had not done anything of import. He had dug, and that was all. He would leave no legacy.

It was that night that the dream came to him. Sibrek awoke from his bed, mind hazy in delirium and pain, and rose to his quaking feet. The dream had burned an image into his eyes, the image of his last work, the legacy he would leave. It was worth any cost.

The dwarves on night watch saw Sibrek stagger from the barracks, face contorted in agony, forcing himself across the grand hall to the mason's shop. He only paused there momentarily, as if briefly collecting his thoughts, before limping to the stone stores beyond the fortress gates.

It took him hours to return with the stone blocks he needed. The dwarves who witnessed his march say that the pain in his face was unbearable, that they could not turn away. Those who offered help went unheard; Sibrek could not hear anything through the agony hammering through his legs, echoing through his spine like struck iron.

The stone returned, Sibrek set out again, to the risen sun and the stone piles. It took him a day and a night to return with the stone he needed, well after the sun had risen again, and every second of his journey marked a drumbeat of pain, and a litany of resolve. It was worth any cost. Any cost. Any cost.

The third time he emerged from the workshop, he could not make it more than ten dwarflengths before his body buckled from the pain. For an hour he leaned against the wall, his sight blurred, but the image sharper and clearer in his mind, and the hammers drumming against his body. Any cost. Any cost.

On his fourth trek, he collapsed in the hallway, and lay there for two days. The dwarves of Agebolts passed his body quietly, averting their eyes and quickly going about their business. There was nothing they could do for him. He probably wouldn't last much longer. But later that night, the watch saw him rise to his feet, shaking, muttering... and advance. Any cost. Any cost.

He returned to the masonry a fourth time, and did not emerge. For a week the sounds of work could be heard within, punctuated by periods of uncomfortable silence. No dwarf would enter. No dwarf wished to find Sibrek's body, sprawled across a work that he would never finish; the mere thought of witnessing such a tragedy was a terror of the soul that noone wished to bear.

After seven days, silence reigned in the crafthalls for many hours, and finally the mayor of Agebolts opened the door. Sibrek's body lay against the workshop wall, contorted in final agony. Before him lay his legacy - a table, etched in diorite, filigreed in realgar, inlaid in designs that defied worldly description. It took some time before the mayor remembered Sibrek and stepped forward to carry him to his bed, for Sibrek's legs could no longer carry him. On the way, Sibrek whispered into his ear before he finally lay still.

"Any cost."

The newest citizens of Agebolts always come amid quiet acknowledgement and quick assignment of duties, but a few choose first to find their way to a small room of the fortress - an unassuming chamber of rough-hewn walls set apart from the fortress, and no furniture - none, except for the table of unsurpassed beauty, still as flawless as the day it was discovered in the mason's shop, next to Sibrek's crumpled body.

And Sibrek himself is sometimes there, when he is not working in the mines; his legs do not carry him as well as they should, but they carry him, and his pick-hand is the stuff of legends. He has never spoken of his labors. But when asked, he always has an answer, one that the young dwarves take to heart: that creation is worth any cost.

The turtle shell Idol^DF

There was a dwarf known as "Treehugger Bristlewhipped." He was called "Treehugger" for he was such a gentle and kind dwarf. Very generous and immodest.
One day Treehugger was caught by a peculiar mood. He went into a craftdwarvshop and began bringing in various materials.. he worked like a mad man for several days and emerged with a turtleshell idol! It was called... "Treehugger Bristlewhipped."
None of the dwarves knew what to say. The ones before Treehugger had produced ornate shields, high quality weapon racks and perfect jewels.
Treehugger had made a self portrait.
As if things weren't bad enough Treehugger explained the idol. He had encrusted it with Lace agate, decorated it with goblin bone and encircled it with bands of Lace agate. The idol menaced with spikes of turtle shell and carried the images of diamonds and many-pointed stars in iron.

Even to this day when a dwarf is asked WHERE the spikes and decorations were located they simply change the subject. Only in our dreams shall we know what this piece really looks like ... if you can remember it when you wake up screaming.

The Story of Treatyflames^DF

At last, we have arrived at the site of our new home, at the edge of the Forest of Calm in the shadow of the peaks of the Beak of Direction. I must admit, it's nothing like I was expecting from the information we received from the Becorrovod officials. The flowing water is little more than a brook, and the lush vegetation consists mainly of shrubs and bushes. Rather than a fertile valley, it appears to be a desolate gulch. Still, there is no turning back now, and we must make the best of what we have: two miners, one woodworker, three farmers, a bookkeeper, a dog, two oxen, an anvil, an axe, two picks, five seeds, and whatever food and ale we managed to avoid consuming on the journey through the wilderness.

...By Rimtar Katthirduthnur's ever-long beard, we are all going to die out here. I know it.

Continued here.

The first half year of Onulod^DF

The fortress Onulod, known as Mirrortunneled amongst men, was founded early in the year 301 under the leadership of Sarvesh Gostmelbil. Seeking a vantage point to look for a good site to start, Sarvesh directed the expedition to one of the highest peaks in the local area. Unfortunately, at the top the wagon broke, the pieces tumbling into the abyss, though the dwarves managed to save all of their supplies. Still, the peak was hardly a suitable place to start the outpost. For one thing, merchants might have touble negotiating the peak, so Sarvesh's first order was for everybody to drag down all the supplies, 27 levels down, to a valley far below. Meanwhile she and the miner Kosoth began digging deep into the mountain, heading for the magma pipe of the local volcano.

No sooner had the settlers dragged down the supplies, and begun to get comfortable, than Sarvesh ordered them into action again. Everything was to be moved inside, through the long, long tunnel dug by him and Kosoth. Everybody grumbled, most of all Erith the craftsman who had just begun converting the bones and shells produced by hungry dwarves into fine wares in his new workshop. The workshop was torn down, and another built deep within the mountain. Everybody was busy, dragging goods, and establishing workshops and personal chambers deep within the mountains. Summer passed by without anybody noticing. Then the merchants from nearby dwarven Kivish Ziril arrived, and everybody was more busy. Barrels of foodstuffs, and most of Erith's first goods were still lying out in the rain, including an exceptionally crafted crown that Erith was quite proud of. During the chaos, a kobold snuck up to the tunnel opening of the settlement and stole Erith's crown lying just outside. Nobody saw the thief, except for the tracks left behind.

The merchants left again, and things simmered down to normal. Olon the Carpenter and Dodok the Mason were the only dwarves to have gotten their own rooms. Everybody else was still sleeping in a barrack, while Sarvesh pursued her dream of a dining hall with open access to the magma pipe. Erith was lying in bed in the barracks, listening to Catten the Farmer snoring next to him, fuming about his lost crown, his lack of proper quarters, all the indignities heaped upon him. And he snapped. He began trashing Catten, while only two beds away Sarvesh was lying in blissful sleep. Several rooms away, while chipping away a staircase to the future underground gardens, Kosoth heard the noise and grabbing her pick tight headed down to investigate.

She first saw Shem the Fisher, standing in the doorway, loudly complaining how it would be impossible to get any sleep with the current racket. Pushing Shem aside, she arrived just in time to see Erith mangling Catten's left leg with a mighty blow. Sarvesh was still sleeping only two beds away, cradling her beloved pick. Erith was a good friend of Kosoth's, but she recognized the maddened gleam in the craftman's eyes. She knew what had to be done, and with a heavy heart she charged Erith, battering him with the shaft of the pick. Erith turned his attention from the unconscious Catten to Kosoth, and maddened with rage tried to bring down his old friend as well. But if Kosoth knew anything, it was how to handle a pick. In short order she struck Erith down. Shaking, both from the emotions and excess adrenalin, Kosoth sat against the wall resting, watching as Shem came into the room, unceremoniously pushed Erith's still cooling corpse of the bed, and lay herself to sleep in the blood soaked linens.

After that Kosoth was a very depressed person. But she buried herself in her work. Digging out the new tombs was first order of business. Then she dedicated herself to completing the underground farms, digging with single minded purpose the long tunnel that would lead water from the local brook. Sometimes her pet cat would bring a small comfort, but her mood never lifted much. With Erith dead, and Catten bedridden, there were two less hands. Everybody was feeling the strain. And it was on this note that winter came around.

Did the elk damage his brain, or was he just stupid?^DF

Urist was slightly confused. An order had come down from on high, requesting him to hunt some of the peaceful elk that roamed the region around the fortress. What bothered him, was that he had no experience with hunting animals, and there hadn't been an order to collect equipment, either. Still, not one to go against the rules, Urist went out in search of some elk to punch to death. He spotted one, and began to chase it. At one point during the arduous trek, they were running alongside a river of lava. Urist felt woozy and unco-ordinated. Eventually, Urist got the order to stop hunting, and took it, with great relief.

The basic story behind this, is I accidentally assign a mason or miner or somesuch to go mining. He has no equipment, so he decides to chase an elk, brandishing his bare fists. When I finally found him, he had yellow brain damage. The scariest bit is, I think he actually got a deer or two.

The Merciless Gears^DF

The echos reverberated across the canyon as the cage trap slammed shut, bringing an early end to another snatcher's career. Within the fortress walls the dwarf Litast Castlebust found herself closest to the sprung trap. Being the civic minded dwarf that she was, she set off down the entryway to collect the prisoner.

Litast liked this entryway. As the chief architect and engineer of Clockworks, she knew its simple appearance hid a deadly secret. She had built those gears herself over many years. In all the kingdom of Kadol Dural, no fort possessed defenses like those of Clockworks. Where other forts built long entryways with many fortifications for the marksdwarves, this entryway was smooth and unbroken on all sides. No dwarves stood watch in here, and few patrolled the walls above. Contentedly, Litast continued into the dark center of the entryway.

Looking ahead she could see the bright square of light that marked the end of the passage into the wilderness. Then her eyes saw it, a blemish, a sneaking figure breaking the perfect contours of light there at the entrance to the fortress. _*click* A menacing shape, too evil and stupid to care why the muddy tiles shifted so slightly under his feet. But Litast knew. Even before she was able to turn around and begin running she knew there was no time; the gears were already turning. _*click* It was going to work just like she had planned it to. The gears were now lifting the drawbridges, sealing both ends of the entryway. Above her, a muffled sound like falling sand could be heard. ^*click* Behind her, a dagger slid from its scabbard. In the dark sealed chamber Litast ran to the end of the passage. Careful to take two steps to the left, she praying for enough breath to survive until Stage Three. ^*click* Stage Two was about to begin.

CLICK!!

-An account of how Litast Castlebust was nearly killed by the same automatic Drowning Chamber that she built.

"A Touch Warm" Indeed^DF

The butcher's shop area was well equipped to handle firey outbursts, but nobody thought to fireproof the shop itself! It had been hastily thrown together years ago with wood from the wagon and forgotten for years. Erkurmorul earned his new nickname, 'Ninja Chef', by gutting and cleaning two whole fire imps during the fire with no injury to himself whatsoever. The fire consumed everything inside, ashes and all. He was pleased with the lack of effort afterwards but the next one will be glass, 'self cleaning table' be damned.

The Eventual Triumph^DF

It had been several years since Cerol had received those life-changing injuries from the seemingly endless swarms of goblins that plagued the fortress every season. Now denied the use of her legs from a crippling blow to her spine, she put away her warhammer and turned to carving ammunition from the bones of her enemies. Not one to let tragedy get the best of her, she made her four children and husband proud by crawling around the fortress on her hands alone, undaunted by the mountain of bones beside her workshop. Still, her refusal to remain bedridden took a toll on her mental state... as did the constant mockery of the fortress children. Every day, she told herself that her children and her work were all she needed, but another part of her would always whisper that she needed to prove herself to the fortress, as she couldn't on the battlefield so long ago. Every day, she shrugged off cruel laughter and worked at her bench, deriving a small satisfaction from every rotting goblin corpse. This is all the satisfaction I need, after all. No it isn't. But I have a family that loves me, and nothing is more fulfilling than that. No, there's something. I won't go down the same path that killed so many of my friends, when they let the voices take them over. I won't let it happen to me. But Cerol... How they laugh at us. Crawling about on your hands, nose in the dirt, head hung in shame, that's not how you want to be remembered. You were a warrior, but you hesitated and let the goblins take your legs away. Show your peers you are a force to be reckoned with, show them what they have made a laughingstock of, show them who you really are. Cerol's family were worried to find that she did not return home that day, nor that week, nor that month. Eyes glazed over, Cerol rarely left her workshop except to gather strange materials... she had an eerie ability to get impossibly heavy stones and metal bars from the deepest labyrinths of the fortress to her shop on the surface, all without the use of her legs. No longer speaking to anybody but herself, she worked day and night. One day, she returned home, not seeming to remember where she had been all summer, or even how she'd fed herself. The town treasurer walked into her workshop to find but a tiny ring sitting atop the bench. Upon closer examination, all around it was an intricately carved image of the battle where Cerol had been wounded, but rather than her downfall, it portrayed her menacing over hordes of cowering goblins, striking them down in spades with wide strokes of her deadly hammer. Artifacts tell of dwarven history, and generations after Cerol's eventual death, dwarves who had never met her remembered her as a great warrior, the bane of the goblin hordes. She was tall as a human, wielded her hammer mercilessly, and slayed hundreds of goblins before dying a glorious death in battle. Not a soul recalled the ridiculous cripple that children threw rocks at for fun, and her descendents all aspired to wield warhammers the way they knew their ancestor once had.

Endok Ageshmorul, The Guard's Finest^DF

In the year 229, the goblins were mounting their usual siege. They had brought 3 battalions with them. The alarm was sounded for the Dwarves of Clutchtour to move inside for the duration of the siege. Marksdwarves were ordered to their stations and 2 squads of axe dwarves were readied to mop up the Goblin wounded. All others moved inside of the gate. Except for one member of the Fortress guard, axedwarf Endok Ageshmorul. For whatever reason, Endok stayed outside. Perhaps she had finally had enough of the sometimes bi-yearly sieges. Perhaps it was that she expected support from the Marksdwarves within the fortifications. Unfortunately for Endok, all 4 squads of Marksdwarves had failed to answer the call to battlestations. They had split themselves between sleep, food, and water all at the same time. Endok stared down the first battalion as it mounted the hill over the fortress and charged her, hoping to bowl her over and move on around the trenches and in to Clutchtour. Endok readied her axe and struck the first goblin to reach her, taking his head off in a single stroke. The goblins were awestruck by the opening blow and Endok begin to wade her way through them. She got another kill before they surrounded her, bisecting a goblin at the waist. Despite the superiority of numbers and the lack of Marksdwarf support, Endok carried the day. She struck down 5 more goblins. They struck a glancing blow, moderately damaging Endok's lower spine. The first battalion fled. Endok readier her axe for the second charge, glanced over the moat and saw the goblins were running. She had broken the siege by herself and earned her title 'Willful Obscurity of Basement' for her efforts to protect the underground fortress of Clutchtour.

Tekkudsherik, Pickperplex^DF

My most proficient metalsmith is an odd dwarf. He is four times over legendary having mastered all skills related to the working of the metal he loved. Many a dwarf in a foreign land has marveled at the quality of the items from Cerol Nanirzas' forge. He is a dwarf who is hard to get along with. A tough, gruff, stubborn and insular dwarf. But what makes him odd persay.

This beefy fantastic dwarf is a "crazy cat lady."

He has been adopted by kittens that I am trying to slaughter seven times. And how can I refuse my best craftsdwarf when he says "Can I keep it?"

He currently is running around my magma forge working on grates with two cats in tow. Each of them has the remains of some kill in it's mouth and they are trying to leave a gift for their dwarf. But he's running around far to fast and the cats are doing laps in my forge. It's kinda funny to watch. Eventually, Cerol returns to his forge to find two lovely little rotting corpses on his anvil. Such nice kitties. It's why he loves them so.

Boo the Mighty^DF

To the rest of Dwarven civilization in the Absolute World, he was known as Stray Cat (Tame). But to those lucky few who lived within the Echoing Candles, he was Boo the Mighty. His claws were sharpened daggers of ivory, his reflexes like lightning! Nary was the lizard, rat, or vermin who could set paw within the hold before Boo left them as so many rotting bones on the floor. Not content to settle in with a single dwarf as did his female counterpart, Boo wandered the hallways and stairways of the Echoing Candles, driving the pests of the world into near extinction and fear. So great was his prowess and effortless grace that he even scared a kobold thief in the middle of its works, sending the rogue scrambling into the newly opened tunnels that were soon to be the magma pipe to feed the forges of Echoing Candles.

Alas, for Boo, that the dwarves did not see the wicked creature nor Boo the Mighty, who persued it into the long but sealed magma tunnel. So ferocious was Boo that the Kobold, trembling, scrambled back from the dead end and ran towards the staircase so far away. Alas, then, for the Dwarves had already evacuated the tunnel and let flow the magma. Boo the Mighty chased the Kobold directly into the flaring, flowing lava, where the cretin was instantly immolated. Ah, but Boo would not die so easily! Though his rear legs were burned away and his tail naught but a charred stump, he dragged himself back towards the dead end of the tunnel. Though his pelt caught aflame and the smoke of his passing obscured the claustrophobic tunnels, he would not give up! It was all for naught, though, as the sole exit from the artificial magma tube was the very first victim of the magma's flow. And so, Boo the Mighty perished as brightly as he existed. But his legacy lives on, for within a cage at the highest point of the tower live twelve of his progency, ready to carry forth the name of their champion into the darkest corners of rat-infested stocks.

Long live the memory of Boo the Mighty.

The Emergency Protocol^DF

Listen, new administrators - before you go, I must tell you the story of a fortress you wouldn't have heard of in your training. It was the greatest triumph, and the greatest failure. A fortress from which much may be learned, but which is never spoken off. Some fear to even name the fortress, lest memory of what happened there bring a curse upon us all. The administrator... he did terrible thing. Terrible, terrible things. Superstitious worry, though - you must hear of this, or you may make the mistake yourself.

There was a fortress by the name of Tradeddawn, famed in it's time - at a peak population of 170 dwarfs, each one an expert in their field, the industrial might depressed prices over half a continent. Goblins besieged the great Tradeddawn, but none were successful - for the ruler of Tradeddawn was the great engineer Vyl, master of the floodgate and the drawbridge. Under his defences the Hall of Levers - a construct who'se name now lives on in legend - could hold the fortress safe. The surface of the land was carved into parcels, walled or channeled off, each of which could be isolated by pulling the appropriate levers - any invaders would be swiftly isolated. Another lever would then cause their death - by Atom Smasher, by flood or by siege weapon.

But the people of Tradeddawn grew overconfident, for it seemed nothing could cause their fotress to fall. Even built into the hashest of territory, it's defences were unbreakable. It's luxurious accomodations kept all happy, it's elaborate water distribution kept all healthy, and it's food production could be self-sustaining indefinatly. Vyl had planned for everything, even building devices by which the entire lower level of mines could be flooded in the event of demonic incursion - or the lower two, or three, whatever would be needed.

In the end it was not goblins who caused Tradeddawn to fall. It was one dwarf, and one mistake. One tiny error that bought down the mighty fortress. A cook, who baked prodigiously - exausting every seed in the fortress. It took three months for the supplies to run out without farming, and the dwarves began to riot.

Perhaps if the dwarves had kept their heads, things would have gone differently - the animals could have been slaughtered for food, until a caravan bought the precious seeds. Fishing was still running. But as the mistake of the cook bought down the fortress, the mistakes of the others ruined it's first chance of recovery. In their riots they killed the hunters and the butchers, they tore down the butchers shops. Frenzied dwarves chased butchers even as they were carrying the meat which would have ended the crisis. At six months in, the 170 dwarves were down to 50 - all of them killed by their former friends.

Desperatly Vyl tried to hang on - he ordered the slaughter of animals, replaced the killed butchers and rebuilt their shops.

Growing desperate, he turned to a plan he hoped never to impliment - a lever he had hoped never to pull. Creeping into the room at night he pulled the great lever, a great switch onstructed of whitest marble. A marble hideing the blackness of its purpose - the lever emptied a cistern into the noble quarters. Tax collecter, the Baron Consort and Baroness, even the Hammerer - all were drowned in the wave of destruction. Murdered, because the fortress could risk the food to keep them alive.

Anything he could to last a little longer, waiting for the caravan and the salvation of Tradeddawn. But even this last hope, the occupents destroyed - they tore down the depo, and killed all architects and masons sent to rebuild it. The caravan was lost.

Sickened by the destruction his people had bought upon themselves - a mere thirty of them left alive, and those intent on killing each other - Vyl has but five levers to pull. Secret, terrible levers - the Five Levers now spoken of in hushed tones to scare children. The first caused the lower mine levels to flood, but without limiting pressure - a riseing water that would eventually fill the fortress. The second flooded the tradeing area, a measure intended as the last-ditch defence against trolls. The third overloaded the farming irrigation system, feeding yet more water into the fortress. The fourth opened the noble quarters, sending the water - and the decaying corpses of the nobles - washing into the central shafts. The fifth opened a spillway in the main aquaduct, washing water over the surface farms and down the sunlight holes.

Tradeddawn went underwater in the year 207, population 27. All of them drowned, as had their nobles. Dwarven men, women and children, slaughtered for their own lack of self-control. Vyl was never found - rumors abound of human settlements suddenly aquiring new irrigation systems, and of goblin towers seen with water pouring out their uppermost windows from hidden underground pumps. Evidence, perhaps, that he was able to flee and continues to practice his trade in secret. Perhaps this is why he commited such a crime, to cover all tracks and fool others into thinking him dead. Of the fortress, only a few holes remain - pools of water connecting to the submerged structure of what was once a mighty tradeing empire.

Dwarves don't like to talk about Tradeddawn. Remember it. Learn from it. Never let your last seeds go into the cooking pot.

First Line of Defense^DF

It was the seventh year of a fortress under inexperienced management when goblins besieged for the first time. The recently conscripted and under-trained military was nearly slaughtered. Soon a dwarf finally pulled the lever to close the drawbridge and lock out the goblins. In a desperate attempt to save the fortress the leader had the dwarfs carve out a twisting passageway and fill it with stone-fall and cage traps. When the work was done the few remaining military dwarfs guarded the end of the tunnel while one brave miner opened the hallway of traps to the outside and the goblins rushed in. The goblins were all slaughtered and miraculously no one else, not even the brave miner, was hurt. Needless to say the dwarfs agreed that the fortress needed a defense overhaul.

The new defenses were amazing. The drawbridge was rebuilt so that when it was closed it would open up a path into the fortress that would lead the invaders through a gauntlet of ballista, a dwarven atom smasher, and the original twisting hallway of traps. It was a beautifully designed system on par with the underground farming complex completed several years earlier. As terrible as the thought is, all of the engineers and siege operators were positively ecstatic to see how the system worked when the next siege came.

The sudden ambush came in the summer of the next year. As most of the dwarfs screamed and ran for the safety of the fortress the lead engineer smiled broadly and yelled "Pull the lever!" He stood just before the drawbridge and watched as the goblins ran towards the fortress. But the bridge wasn't raising. The engineer suddenly remembered, the new drawbridge never got hooked up the lever. The goblins weren't going to die in the labyrinth of traps and death, they were going to run straight into the fortress! Only thanks to the newly trained crossbow corps was the fortress saved, but at great cost. The moral of the story is never forget to link all you levers!

The (Attempted) Rape of Webglaze^DF

Yeah, I know you're looking at me funny with a title like that. Humies. Rape means to carry off, to steal, to loot, capiche? It's not like we want dwarves for their BODIES, they don't even make good leather, much less good ****toys.

Webglaze was on the outskirts of The Evils of Robustness. Good strong goblin name, good strong goblin kingdom. They'd settled into the edge of the mountain, started wasting their time on the sort of stupid shit dwarves always waste their time on. Work work work. Stack objects willynilly as if it actually mattered where an XX(Pig Tail Cap)XX with dwarf blood spattering, blood spattering, and vomit spattering was. Sell shit to the traders. Humies are idiots, they'll do anything for a narrow giant spider silk loincloth. Probably worth more because they like the fact it smells like goblin balls.

Young Amxu'd launched a raid on the fuckers. That's Amxu Ukruaslot, the wrestler, not old Axelord Amxu Stokgorukus Xudlubsnosstrosp. He hadn't come back, though nobody'd seen him get killed. A bunch of dead dwarves, a bunch of dead goblins. All good, how else are we going to get a reasonable amount of stuff?

There were a couple more raids, and the fuckers fought 'em off each time. Big woop. One of the survivors said he'd seen young Amxu in a cage, so old Amxu went in to rescue him. Yeah, stop looking at me like I'm crazy. You think elves are the only people with feelings, do you? Bitch. At least Amxu didn't invade because he got his loincloth in a bunch about someone cutting down his favorite larch or something. Amxu went in. Amxu wasn't there when we got out. That's old Amxu, that is.

But each time we'd invaded, the fuckers had taken heavy damage. But there wasn't enough time between raids to account for how they went from fifty dwarves back up to seventy. There were immigrants, and immigrant dwarves can mean one thing and one thing only: Wealth. There was something in that maze of caverns that was worth risking their lives for.

Well, we decided to cut the small shit. Thirty, forty? Fuck that. My commander sent a full EIGHTY soldiers in. Eighty. One for each dwarf in the fort. Turns out we'd miscounted and there were only 78. But we went through them like cheese. The Webglaze commanders paniced and activated everyone, but it was like they never heard of squads or commanders - half the soldiers were running across the surface to DRINK. One guy I killed begged me to let him live because he was a soap maker, not a soldier. A fucking soap maker. These guys have never bothered to MAKE ANY SOAP. Mad old Shorast, the mayor, thought to order them inside as our forces marched to the entrance (which the fools had put RIGHT ON the border for some reason.).

We charged across the drawbridge, but for some reason it didn't lift until the whole troop was inside - I think the lever-puller must have been in the other fort. Good thing, too, because when I looked down I saw what the moat was full of. 'Full' isn't quite the right word. Depending on where I fell, I might crack my head on granite - or splash into the lava. Fuckers have a lava moat.

Yeah, other fort. What do you think that big rectangular wall up in the mountains is all about? The obsidian one surrounded by traps? For some reason Udim, he was the first leader they had - crazy bastard - had them build two forts halfway across the map from each other. I couldn't figure why, but little Stukos told me the history of the place. Said I had to learn it good because her parents taught her, and now they were in a box, and I was in a box too, and everyone would be in a box someday, and we should take what we knew into the boxes.

She'd tell the mountain goat the same thing. I don't think she was quite right in the head.

Oh yeah, why were there two forts? Well, Udim plonked everyone down in the arable land first. Dwarves like rock. But they're also willing to dig in the dirt. So he set up a farm, instead of doing the sensible thing and raiding the neighbours for stuff. There were a couple pools there, and they'd drink from them. Well, until someone pissed in one or drowned in one or got miasma in it or something. So the fuckers were walking halfway across the map to the brook every time they wanted a drink. After the first couple of raids, he realized that that wasn't safe. Hell, he couldn't even trade properly, because by the time he got back the caravan was gone. And you recall what I said about lava? Well, crops don't grow well in obsidian. The dwarves were digging everywhere in Udim's day, looking for magma. They found it over to the northeast. Right near that brook the fuckers were so fixed on drinking from. Took them a while to get a channel ready and figure out how to put together screw pumps, but they got it working. Presto, magma moat.

The other party had made it to the obsidian fort - sure, a few of 'em got stuck in the cages and deadfalls, but who cares? Our Supreme Commander got attacked by a bunch of elite hammerdwarves and thrown into the channel by the obsidian fort - at least, that's his story as to how he got taken prisoner. Me, I think one of our guys gave a boot to his backside as they marched over the second drawbridge. Nobody liked him much - he didn't succeed at anything, even making excuses as to why he'd failed. And we'd have noticed elite hammerdwarves. Hell, we'd have noticed dwarves who could find their own weapons. And we didn't see any hammerdwarves as we rampaged through the fortress.

We charged in, killing their pets, smashing the skulls of a couple stupid kids trying to plant seeds while their parents ran hither and yon trying to find their weapons. We got into the second floor (that's DOWN, to you - remember, these are dwarves) and smashed up their kitchen a bit, chased a few down to the graveyard rooms. Creepy. More coffins than there were dwarves in Webglaze when we attacked, and all but two of them claimed. Well, we fixed that. The group I was in ran into their barracks. Nice place. I think old Udim must have made that before any of the other rooms - it was covered in the most insipid engravings. An image of a dwarf and dwarves, the dwarf is surrounded by the dwarves, shit like that? Well, the place was pretty well secured. Everyone awake enough to fight had died; there were maybe twenty, twenty-five of the original dwarves left alive, and they were all either in utterly stupid places, eating, drinking, or sleeping. We killed the ones sleeping in the barracks, started searching for shit worth stealing. Shorast tried to lock us in, but couldn't. We'd TAKEN that doorway HARD.

The surviving dwarves, those sane enough to do so at least, had locked themselves in their rooms - the second dining room over by the magma pipe, the new (and ugly) barracks), one of those crowded coffin complexes. So here we are, a squadron of wrestlers and speardwarves, guzzling the hooch - at least, the hooch that we hadn't pissed in - no, I take that back. Not all of us were bright enough to only chug from the sealed barrels - when in come two recruits, wounded and exhausted. And they flop on the beds and go to sleep. What. The. Fuck?

I poked one with my spear. Cancelled that rest! But he just rolled over and went back to sleep. So I poked him again. One of the wrestlers went out to get him a barrel of the special booze we'd made.

I should say, TRIED to go out. The fuckers had locked the barracks door when they went in to sleep! We couldn't believe it. We were trapped. So much for my plan to pee in old Amxu's cage. And the stupid recruits wouldn't even wake up and fight.

... Actually, I did get a chance, but it's not so much fun when you're in a cage too. Stukos thought it was funny, though, so she'd bring me extra beer.

Oh, whatever happened to her? I hear she's mayor now. Sometimes she comes down to talk to me. Says I helped her learn how to deal with people.

I know I'm rambling. I'm trying to get around telling you what I need to tell you, because it's not easy. She's been drawing up plans. They're making a third fort deep under the mountains. Where the surface is barely better armed than Shorast made it, the deep one is bristling with weapons. They've finally learned how to make seige engines. And they're all underground. Her bedroom's there, too. Deep down. The walls are raw adamantine, engraved with horrible things. The first is an adamantine screw pump. The screw pump is pumping liquid pitchblende. It is a masterpiece. I can tell it is because of the terror that it evokes, when it seems so harmless. There are two more masterpieces in there. An image of a dwarf and goblins, the goblins striking down the dwarf. She said it was there so that her father could tell what he looked like when he comes back. The third is an image of dwarves and blazing suns. The blazing suns are scorching the dwarves. She smiled when she said, "This is so that I always know where I am going."

I don't know what she's doing down there, in the adamantine chambers. I only know that you need to stop her before it is too late.

Tradeddawn's Legacy^DF

You must listen to me, Dwarves! Why do you not realise what it is I have done for you? A new age has dawned, freedom is granted.

Twenty years ago I last saw my home city-fortress of Tradeddawn - yes, you heard correctly. A place not only of legends, but of my birth. I was there when the famine struck. I was there when order became chaos. I saw what it is that dwarves can be driven to - the fighting, the riots, the self-destructive murder of food producers. When our leader Vyl gave the order to murder those who ate but did not produce, I was the dwarf who pulled the lever. I was his student.

I am the sole surviver now. When Vyl realised what he must do, he sent me away, knowing the destruction of the fortress would destroy all record of me. For all those twenty years I have strived to complete his vision - I was, and always will be, his student.

Many times in the past, fortresses have rebelled against their noble rulers - in times of shortage, or of war. Always the consequences have been harsh: The death of all tho would challenge this elite. Vyl realised that these nobles, these non-producers, these parasites, would one day cause the end of our civilisation. They demand gold statues and new buckets, while the goblin hoards are storming our drawbridges and their bodies pile so high they fill out moats.

And yet, they could not be harmed. A few dwarves could murder some, but more would always take their place. Vyl was the one who told me what I must do.

I founded this fortress as soon as I returned, under a new name. I built it, and I built that which fills the mountain. From the very day I arrived here I have been constructing it. When the first immigrants arrived, I was planning this day. when the nobles arrived, I was planning. I traded and I offered tribute, I defended the fortress, and I grew it until the day I know I could one day see - the day when the king would come, and proclaim this the Mountainhome. The king, and his court. All the highest nobles of our people, gathered in one place. All the records, the titles, the genaeologies of a thousand respected families, sealed in the Mountainhome vaults.

They scoured their rooms for traps, of course. But they think so small - they searched for floodgates, for pressure plates, for balanced stones. None of them realised my true masterpiece - the construction of an entire fortress trap. The labor of two hundred dwarves, none realising what it was they built, each aware of only a tiny part. None even considered the possibility of a trap so vast.

Do you understand now why I needed to do this? It's for the good of us all. The mechanisms cannot be stopped now - the timer, once started, cannot be reversed. The exits already are sealed. In a matter of minutes the delay pool will fill, the water will press down on a plate, and the final gates will open. A cistern ten levels high will empty into this fortress. Whole floors will fall into the deep. Do not fear the pain - water under such pressure does not drown, the force of it's movement kills instantly. In five minutes, this Mountainhome will be nothing but rising smoke and falling water. I am sorry that I must kill so many innocent dwarves, but it was the only way to be sure - only by destroying our entire system of government in one strike can each fortress be offered a chance to achieve independance. No nobles, no records. Not even memory of me - the freedom of all dwarves is a greater legacy than fame.

I hear the mechanisms operating. It will not be long now. That rumbling is the sound of the King's quarters, it's supports released, falling into the abyss. That hissing the displacement of air, as more water than you can imagine flows through our hallways. Thirty seconds before it arrives here.

I can feel the destruction in the shaking of these walls. The pressure will be so great, no door will hold. Sand will scour carvings from walls, ink shall run from shreaded paper, and in time ven coins will become unrecogniseable.

Ten seconds.

We did it, Vyl.

The Goblin Ambush of Ironwalls^DF

The goblin ambush party marched toward the fortress. Their leader, a master lasher called Ngostu, was smiling evilly. The fortress, known as Ironwalls, had been popularised as the 'impregnable fortress'. The fortress did not produce strong dwarves but was well known for it's crafty mechanics. The standby army never even had to fight off invaders as the many traps did their work. The dwarves had little need to go outside the fort walls as they had blocked out a large area with a brook running through it for woodcutting, herbalism and fishing. Even the roads to the nearby civilisations were blocked, so migrants and traders could enter without the fort having to be exposed. And even these roads could be blocked if news that a nearby fortress or town had fallen.

Kobolds and goblins had long given up trying to invade Ironwalls. But recently, the goblins were beseiging another fortress nearby when a messener arrived from Ironwalls. The messenger was shot by a goblin marksman and his message was brought to the captain. To the goblin's utmost delight, it said that Ironwalls had fallen. And so, Ngostu and his party of 7 goblins had been sent in.

It was almost 2 days after the messenger was killed, late at night. Ngostu was not very happy with his companions. They were newcomers, with barely any skill. They were presently joking around and laughing loudly. They are not taking it seriously, he thought. Wait till they see the traps. They had finally arrived at the boundaries of the fortress. Ngostu signalled them to stop. The outline of a door was visible ahead of them. Ngostu took a deep breath and went in. The others followed quietly.

The ambushers came into a lit hallway with two doors at the end. Going through the door on the left, Ngostu saw absolutely nothing but inky black darkness. He closed the door and went through the other one. They saw a brightly lit corridor with a door at the end. The goblins trudged ahead. None of them heard the click of a pressure plate. All of a sudden hatches opened on the side of the walls and water drained out. Floodgates suddenly closed the before them and the door was blocked. Ngostu sprinted for the doorway they entered from and ran out. The others followed close behind. After they leaped out of the door, they saw that some more floodgates had closed, blocking the water's flow out.

One of the goblins was trapped in the corridor, his screams still sounding from within. Visibly shaken, Ngostu and the goblins got up and walked through the other door. Ngostu slowly crept through the dark corridor, with the others following. Near the middle, he sensed something wrong. Why was nothing happenning to them, he thought, and stopped walking. The other goblins were impatient and walked ahead. All of a sudden the goblin at the front suddenly vanished, screaming. Ngostu rushed to the front and saw that a small drawbridge had been retracted in front of them to expose a deep pit. The whole trap had been timed brilliantly, and the goblin didn't realise it till he was falling.

Since their way was blocked by the pit, Ngostu looked around to see if there was a way to get the drawbridge out again. To his surprise, there was a lever waiting at his side that did just that. The party marched on through the corridor. Ngostu told the others to listen out for any tiny creaks, to see if they had stepped on a pressure plate. At the end of the corridor was a door. The goblins went through and found themselves in a brightly lit room with no exits. They slowly crept around and all of a sudden one of them said he heard a creak. All the goblins stopped moving and waited. Then, a support nearby collapsed and part of the ceiling gave way. One of the goblins was hit on the head and collapsed dead. The others were knocked unconscious by the dust. When they got up, there were 5 remaining including Ngostu. There was an open passageway at the end of the room and they went in.

They were in another corridor, but brightly lit this time. The goblins crept through silently, and when they heard a soft 'click', they all looked to Ngostu for help. Ngostu had no idea what to do, so he shrugged and ducked. All of a sudden a few spears and spikes erupted from the ground, impaling one unfortunate goblin. The other 4 looked away from the gruesome sight. Ngostu led his three remaining companions around the spikes to the end of the corridor. Another door awaited the survivors. They went in and found themselves in another dark room, but a chink of light came out from behind the wall on the side of the room. The light revealed a lever at the side of the room. Ngostu pulled the lever, and a support collapsed. It turned out that the 'wall' with the light behind it was a support and the 'light' was a large colony of fire snakes. The snakes slithered out and flung themselves upon the nearest goblin. His cried echoed in the room.

Ngostu and the other two goblins looked around for a way out, but only found the room which housed the fire snakes. They charged in and saw another lever. They pulled the lever and a support collapsed to provide a way out. The three rushed into a squarish, brightly lit room with a barrel of beer at the centre. One of the goblin made to go towards it but Ngostu stopped him. The goblins turned to see the colony of fire snakes coming towards them, and behind them, a charred lump that used to be their companion. Ngostu and the goblins ran as fast as they could around the barrel of beer and huddled next to the wall at the very back, as far from the snakes as possible. However, the fire snakes cut across the barrel of beer and lighted the wood. There was a tremendous explosion of boiling beer, and one of the goblins was burnt to death. The snakes seemed to have triggered a pressure plate that caused another support to collapse and the remaining 2 goblins ran through the passageway. The fire snakes had been boiled in the explosion, so the goblins paused to catch their breath and look around.

They were in a room with a lever and nothing else. When Ngostu pulled the lever, a support collapsed and a passageway into the fort was opened. Ngostu strode into the fort, but he activated a pressure plate that caused floodgates to close behind him and lock his last remaining companion out. Ngostu hurried back and heard the sound of water trickling down from hatches. So he was the last remaining member of the ambush party. He searched around for the famed treasure room to bring some trinkets back for his leaders. When he finally found it he realised his mistake. For there, sitting on a mound of gold, silver and platinum, was a huge dragon. Seeing the goblin, the dragon lazily blew fire at it. Ngostu still had his shield, and used it to block the fire. However, the dragon was already upon him. He lashed out with his whip and hit the dragon's rear end. This angered the legendary beast and it batted away Ngostu's shield with a claw. Ngostu was resigned to his fate but decided to do as much damage to the dragon as possible. He swung upwards towards the beast's eyes, but forgot that his entire body was exposed in front of the dragon's mouth. With one powerful breath, the goblin was burnt to a crisp.

The Worst Titan^DF

It was midsummer in Pagepulley. The town, an industrious hive of activity settled on a deep foundation of rich mineral wealth, had been blooded in its first siege, though the champion who single-handedly broke it lay at rest in the seemingly endless stone and loam dormitories, his right flank slowly healing from its mangled state. The town had since seen off a small ambush and was settling back to normal, when a lone dwarf, scavenging the corpses of the fallen goblins, glimpsed a distant, menacing figure. Soon, the cry went up all over the fortress:

"Titan!"

Sekel Thadked Wogelum, a feared creature of legend had come lumbering over the hills and towered over the thick forest surrounding the fort. Within minutes, all dwarves bar the small militia were rushed below ground, while the armed and armoured warriors waited in trepidation for what would certainly be a fight to tell to the grandchildren, if they survived.

Hours passed. Massive crushing death on two legs failed to appear. Sensing something wrong, one dwarf climbed the surrounding walls to take a look and see how close the Titan had come to the walls. Nothing. Conferring briefly, the dwarves drew straws and decided the young, unmarried Swordsdwarf, Sigun Asmellar, should take her squad out into the wild forest and investigate.

Moving swiftly, the dwarf, her sergeant and their two freshly trained recruits made their way through the forest, Sigun racing ahead of her companions in brash eagerness to prove her worth to his Captain. Suddenly, she glimpsed her prey through the trees and dashed forward, crying her deity's name and raising sword and shield high, only to stop short when she saw the state of it. The titan, famed in the legends of yore and the fright stories of children, lay prone and unconscious on the forest floor. Sigun blinked, finding her nemesis somewhat lacking. Looking closer, she found it to be lacking in a very discernable way.

To be precise, it lacked anything below the right knee.

Yes, somehow, Sekel Thadked Wogelum, Bane of the Vales, Ancient of Nightmares, had hopped its way across the land, only to fall unconscious at the borders of Pagepulley. Sigun gaped, and raged impotently for a while, hacking at a passing deer, then throwing its wounded body into a nearby lake. Some minutes later, a whistling bolt cut through the forest and a huffing presence crashed through the undergrowth as the rest of the squad arrived. The Swordsdwarf's second in command thundered into the clearing, hammer raised and teeth bared, then she too stopped short at the sight of the fallen titan. The two dwarves stood for a moment, looking at each other, then at the titan, then at each other, then at the titan again. After a short pause, the Hammerdwarf shrugged and strolled towards the fallen figure, and began striking at it with her hammer, not doing much appreciable damage, but causing a small spew of bile to appear at its lips as it was struck hard in the Kidneys. Sigun leaned back against a tree and took a sip from her waterskin as the Hammerdwarf worked up a thick sweat, soon joined by a Marksdwarf who laid into the beast with the butt of her crossbow. Eventually, she strolled over and took her blade to the Titan, wondering how she'd talk this one up to the boys and girls back home.

dwarf cabin fever^DF

The siege was laid upon us so quickly that we barely had time to react. Our forces, minimal at best, showed up at our front gate. The meager 2 hammerdwarfs and 3 wrestlers were overwhelmed quickly by the human lashers. We pulled the lever that would draw up our bridge, successfully blocking off the humans from our fort and our access to the outside world. However, our fort was literally made to withstand long sieges. The entire thing being self reliant. My halls were equiped with farms, underground forests, a water source, and a place to put refuse. This, on paper, looked to be easy to handle until I raised a sufficient army. Progress was slow, and before I had even 5 dwarfs equiped (Remember I am getting all my charcoal wood from underground forests, not the best source in the world) They had placed another siege on top of the one I had already. I was getting frustrated now. The people were also not helping by making more babies for me to make beds for. I could not accomadate this growing population with just these underground forests alone, I had terribly miscalculated. So with my army, 8 hammerdwarfs at that point and my ragtag militia of 20 recruits armed with nothing but a strong hunger for the outside world, we pulled that fateful lever once again. my army charged at their men, arrows flew threw the air into my recruits, disabling 5 of them. immediately the loyal dwarfs stuck their necks out to retrieve their fallen friends, resulting in most of them meeting the same fate. our hammerdwarfs, unfaltering, managed to kill 5 lashers before losing one to pain. blood covered the bridge as my hammerdwarves mercilessly swung away at their opponents. with 5 hammerdwarfs and only 3 of my recruits left this was a grim victory at most. but then the dwarves saw something that made their hearts drop. A larger force of humans had come to avenge their fallen friends. fear ran through their spines and they scattered, abandoning the once great fort , returning to the mountainhomes.

Damn those Elves!^DF

My second fortress, Aged Ale, met a horrible end. I was particularly proud of my fortress at the time. I had room for all 30 or so dwarves, just beds, I had no idea their were cabinets or chests at that time. Food was plentiful, as was booze, wood and stone. I decided it was time for a good strong defense. A channel around my entrance would be fine for now. So i set to digging it, not knowing at the time that a channel would destroy the walls under it. So now my nice looking fortress was broken by a long line that breached the walls of many rooms, no matter. Just aesthetics, not incredibly important. So I continued placing. My channel was almost done, and a bridge was being laid down for merchants to come in. Then, disaster, my poorly planned channel had breached the walls of a small pond, soon my dining room and farm plots were submerged, the rest of my fortress was saved by strategic door placing, oh well accidents happen. But now I had half a moat! Surely my defenses would be impregnable! And, as if to test my 'impregnable' fortress, the Elves attacked! A whole two squads on my 'impregnable' fortress. It was not impregnable. They laid down frickin planks to cross my one-tile wide channel, then proceeded to murder half the fortress(I had absolutely no military), but, lucky for me I had dug deep into the earth, and had built a hallway with some forbidden doors , the dwarves behind would be safe until the Elves left. Not so, my Legendary miner was a great guy, friends with a lot of other dwarves, a lot who died. He went into a tantrum and proceeded to murder the rest of the fortress with his pick. Then, after his orgy of destruction was done, he grew melancholy and starved himself. But, I still had one or two dwarves kickin around, both migrants, so they had no friends. My fortress would be rebuilt by these two brave young men! And then a kobold thief came and managed to kill one. One peasant was left. A single peasant. At that point I was frothing at the mouth with anger and sorrow at my lost fortress. The poor peasant was wandering the fortress, vomiting every so often on the strewn bodies of fallen comrades, and all the while I'm trying to get him to do something, he's obviously conflicted, there's literally hundreds of jobs, bury the dead, plant seeds, harvest plants, cut wood, mine, construct building. In my rush to fix the fortress i accidentally unforbidded the hallway doors, and a lone invader I could not see in the unit list because of all the dead proceeded to wrestle the last survivor to death. Aged Ale had fallen.

The Expeditioner's Logs^DF

I've started to keep "Star Trekish", in character logs for my fortresses, I'll leave links here for your reading pleasure.

The Expeditioner's Logs I: The Lost Fortress: Rirassodel

The Expeditioner's Logs II: The Sand and Fire: Endokodshith

The mayor who could^AD

One soft spring day, when the flowers were blooming and the wind was blowing, while the mayor was drinking his morning ale, a large, glistening figure bashed it's way through the door. The mayor wasn't concerned about it, many adventurers had come in like this in the past. The mayor was going through the usual,
"We're quite untroubled here," phrase in his head when a booming voice yelled;
"Hello. My name is El Evelecit. Do you need any service?"
The mayor was quite startled at how feminine the voice was. When he got a better look at this figure, he could see that El was actually a woman.
"Oh, er, actually we're quite untroubled here," stuttered the mayor.
"Ha ha ha," boomed El, "wrong choice, mayor."
The mayor was quite confused about this statement, but before he could ask, El had ripped off the mayor's loincloth, and started beating the mayor with it relentlessly. After a couple strikes, the mayor, who was only a farmer was already quite scratched up. Luckily, the mayor had taken an emergency wrestling class, just for things like this. He grabbed El's hand and started punching her giant face. El was surprised the mayor actually tried to stop her, but she just beat the mayor with his loincloth some more. The mayor thought about the situation and, became enraged by the fact he was getting beaten up by his own undergarments. And with one last punch, the mayor managed to get enough force into the strike that El's whole upper body have exploded in gore.

And that is why, to this day, people still praise "Urist Genamotir 'Womanpunch'".

The Chef's Fine Dish^DF

In the desert haven 'Umidastis' (Fallendunes) We rely on only one man to make our delicious food, Our fine chef Rith Iditon. He recently made a lovely -Plump Helmet Stew- for us to dine on, here's a description of this delicacy..

I think it needs a bit more Plump Helmets...

Keeping the new boss happy...^DF

After a highly contested election, an immigrant miller and plant-gatherer named Kel Sazirdodok won the post of Mayor of Sikelsazir from the previous incumbent, who grudgingly vacated his rather nice quarters to the newcomer. However, Kel's ego was quickly inflated by his new role and he began oppressing his compatriots and demanding a better office.

An intrepid mason instantly began work in secret on a project to soothe the leader's ferocious temper. After some days of secret work, he unveiled the incredible artifact he created - a native gold quern inlaid with tiger iron, in honor of Kel's former profession. It was immediately installed in Kel's office as a conversation piece to impress diplomats, and everybody went home happy. Sometimes, late at night, Kel can still be heard grinding away at some cave wheat in his office...

Flushed Away...^DF

I had started a fortress with an idea in mind: a true 'underwater' fortress, with long stone towers extending from the bottom of a vast lake...

I chose a spot that had both a brook and a large series of gullies, which I walled off to make a containment area for water. I then started my fortress at the bottom of one of the gullies, digging out caverns around the open space, going up a level and building bridges across, and so forth. Several game years went by while I prepared the area... I knew once I started filling the gully, I would be unable to build any new towers or constructions, so I aimed to make as many empty chambers and rooms as possible.

Eventually I got bored and decided to go ahead and start up the lake... a quick channel dig got the process going. It actually took YEARS to fill the gully up. Eventually it was about 2/3 full. If I had left things at that, maybe I'd still be playing, but alas, I had another idea...

So, we all have nobles who show up, boss our favorite dwarves around, and contribute nothing to the fortress, right? So I decide to build a beautiful opulent set of noble quarters right below the bottom of the lake. With a flood gate connected to a reservior fed from the lake bottom, and a wall grate leading to a chasm for the overspill. (Yes, the map had chasms as well.) Unfortunately, this was one of those ideas I should have implemented BEFORE I started filling in the lake. And I should have read the Wiki a bit more carefully about water pressure...

My poor miner never knew what hit him; he was sent flying on a torrent of water and smashed into the wall. I'd built 3-4 doors behind him in case of accidents. They were BLOWN open by the force of the water, and my whole fortress started slowly flooding from the bottom up. The worst part, though, was what happened to the topside water level; it became a giant whirlpool spiraling down... like a flushing toilet.

Don't Feed the Spiders^DF

In the year 201, the fortress Rovol Zarut "Sanctum of Insanity" was founded. It had a frustratingly slow first year: the cat died wandering off into the mountains and was eaten by a giant cave spider, the stockpiles were littered with huge chunks of stone, and the farms were grossly overproducing for such a small fortress. By 202, the seven Dwarves running the place were praying to Armok for a wave of immigrants.

Armok, it seems, has a sense of humor.

It was late spring. Word reached the dwarves of Rovol Zarut that they would finally be getting their much-needed wave of immigrants. What they weren't told was the chosen route. For you see, on the ill-fated first day of the first of Felsite 202, the immigrants arrived in the region... just south of the very giant cave spider who had killed the cat the year before. The screams of pain and suffering could be heard for miles as the first immigrant was paralyzed, drained, and discarded.

To call it a bloodbath would be an understatement. Not one Dwarf out of the 20 new immigrants survived, and even the original 7 were not spared either as they rushed to pick clean the corpses of their would-be allies. On that day, a giant cave spider gained a title of infamy, but none lived to say it aloud. Every last Dwarf was dead before the first of Hematite, struck down by a very poor choice of entry.

If nothing else, these unfortunate 27 Dwarves justified the fortress' name. To this day, no Dwarf will return to the Sanctum of Insanity, for fear of death by that which slew an entire wave of immigrants and the fortress minders in under a month.

The Epic of Tholtig Cryptbrain, Queen of the Bronze Orbs, Ruler of Circletower, Elven Genocide^DF

This is the tragic but inspiring legend of Tholtig Momuzidek Lelumdoren, "Tholtig Cryptbrain the Waning Diamonds," and the bloody century and a half-long war with the elves that she was born into and died within. It is long, for it chronicles the epic of an entire dwarf civilization, but there is a screenshot at the end that summarizes her greatness.

I discovered her story while I was browsing legends mode tracing the many wars of the era (I was looking for a world with a long history and interesting events to engrave, and had therefore increased the size of megabeasts to 70, except for hydras, which I increased 140) and happened to notice her name appear over and over, throughout the decades.

She was the fifth and last ruler of the dwarven cilization known as the Bronze Orbs, and ruled the mountainhome of Circletower. Her grandfather Meng Emetmistem Tirdugzodost Urrith, "Meng Freshportal the Brutal Rot of Scarring," had been the first of their line to rule Circletower, after the only daughter of the first ruler since time immemorial had died childless, slain by a titan after ruling for only less than a year. Meng had earned the throne after he himself stepped up to duel with the titan, driving it off but receiving a heavy wound to his lower body in the process. It was Meng who had started the war with the elves, incensed over their devouring of sentient beings. In the year 81 He led ten of his best dwarves against fifteen of the elves of the Steamy Winds, slaying five of them in exchange for two of his comrades. Several dwarves who would go on to earn fame and honor earned their first kills in that first conflict, among them Goden Leafybridges the Talon of Shooting (294 kills), Tosid Stockadefortunes the Lined Friend (146 kills), and Goden Routedgates the Jade Planes of Braving (23 kills).

However, Meng had picked as his foe a powerful elf civ on the rise. During the same years as they fought with the dwarves, the Steamy Winds declared war on the humans and a goblin tyranny ruled by a demon - it was a world war of unimaginable scale. Cities and forest retreats were stained with the blood of literally tens of thousands of the dead, settlements were razed repeatedly by both sides as they fought over them, and the fortunes of empires often turned on a single battle. By the end of it all, over 250 years later, the great elven forest that once stretched across the map was reduced to scattered outposts, but this was long after the passing of Meng and his daughters.

Meng died forty years after claiming the throne in 113, and the skulls of 91 elves decorate the mausoleum where he was laid to rest. He had outlived all but one of his children, the rest having been slain (but thankfully not devoured) by elves. The only survivor, Metthos Rodercatten Notlith Am, "Metthos Baldedchanneled the Ruin of Speaking," (101 kills) ruled for only seven years before her death leading the Bronze Orbs to victory against a force of elves that outnumbered the dwarves more than 6 to 1, leaving the throne to her only daughter, the aforementioned Tholtig, who had just turned 30. There had been no other children because Metthos's husband had been slain by elves two years after Tholtig's birth.

The odds would only get worse after her death.

As soon as she could raise a hammer at the age of twelve, Tholtig had joined her parents and grandparents on the battlefield. The dwarves had no choice, for their losses were so great that they needed every pair of hammer-wielding arms they could find. By the time she ascended the throne in 121, she had slain 48 elves and a cyclops, but the amount of dwarves left capable of wielding a weapon numbered less than ten. Nonetheless, she led them to victory in her first assault against the elves, but it was a Pyrrhic victory that saw the deaths of two of her children, including her eldest son.

The war saw the rise of numerous heroes and their offspring: among them Alath Pageplaited the Circular Tongs (60 kills, slain by a hydra in 103), Olon Orblabors the Fenced Sandal of Shadow (Alath's brother, 118 kills, became a diplomat halfway through the war and stopped going to battle), and Unib Lancemet the Way of Boiling (the sister of Alath and Olon, 8 kills, slain by an elven arrow), and Mafol Drilledhammer the Violence of Forests (Son of Tholtig, with a mere 5 kills before death by an arrow) Many elf heroes of the wars with the humans and goblins, flouting long titles earned by the lives they had ended, themselves met their end at the hands of Tholtig or her brothers and sisters in arms. A typical battle might see 281 elves arrayed against a mere 4 dwarves, only for 96 elves to perish with all 4 dwarves surviving, yet this continued year after year. There was an elf leader who met each of the dwarf heroes in battle multiple times for eight years and escaped, before Tholtig finally killed him in their third duel. However, as time passed, the elves only grew more numerous, while the dwarves, their numbers decimated by constant warfare and their children dying without offspring, only grew closer to ultimate defeat.

Tholtig married Logem Uthmikmelbil Gosterudosiddor, "Logem Shaketomes the Hoary Men-larks," son of the heroes Leafybridges and Stockadefortunes from the first battle between the dwarves and elves and brother of Alath, Olon, and Unib. Unlike previous rulers of the Bronze Orbs, Tholtig and her husband had many children, numbering ten in all. However, fate was against the Bronze Orbs: eight of her children died at tender ages shortly after taking up arms against the elves, and even the two who survived the wars met misfortune elsewhere. Her youngest daughter, Urist Joinedrings the Permanent Scars, who had slain 176 elves and survived countless battles, was slain by a hydra, but most tragically of all, Tholtig's eldest daughter and heir, Erush Racktoned the Rough Miseries of Quiescence, was slain at the age of 90 having slain 1007 elves, by the same titan that her great-grandfather King Meng had driven off to claim his title, which had suddenly returned 100 years later to plague the Bronze Orbs.

However, time was a foe that even legendary force of arms could not overcome. In 200, five years after Tholtig mourned the passing of her heir, an adventurer slew that same hydra that took the life of Tholtig's youngest daughter and brought an end to the Age of Legends. By then, only three dwarves remained to defend Circletower: Tholtig, her husband Logem, and Obok Willbolt the Drinks of Ruining, a venerable dwarf who had witnessed the rise of Tholtig's grandfather and the beginning of the war a century ago, and amassed 1654 trophies, and of course the diplomat Olon, who must have then been regretting the pacifism had cost him equal glory.

Lacking children to carry on and therefore hope, the remaining dwarves slowly slipped away, Obok in 227, Logem in 237, and finally Olon the diplomat in 242. For nearly ten years, from 237 onwards, Tholtig defended her ancestral home of Circletower alone. Each of these years year saw one hundred or more elves lay siege to the empty halls where Tholtig's entire clan lay sleeping, only to be driven back in bloody defeat. Alone she stood, hammer in hand, the only force between her home and firey conquest. Despite the injustice of chance that had taken away her children and the inevitability of defeat she held her ground until at last in 246 when old age struck her down, something no mortal weapon could have aspired to. And so fell the last dwarf of the Bronze Orbs - and with Tholtig's death ended their entire civilization and history. Tholtig had lived for one hundred and fifty-six years, all of which had seen no peace for her, and outlived all of her children, her friends, and her husband. Logem, the second-to last of the dwarves to pass on, had died with 1955 kills. To give an idea of how many Tholtig had killed, it took one minute and thirteen seconds to scroll from the top of her entry to the bottom.

The Kills of Tholtig Cryptbrain the Waning Diamonds, Last Queen of the Bronze Orbs and Ruler of Circletower:

The Story of Hoofclapped, Downfall of Ghoul-Ash the Bane^DF

10th Sandstone: It's almost winter of our third year. I suppose I should have kept records earlier, but everything was going too well, we were just too busy. I guess I'll start with a short recap.

We are The Glowing Hammers, now a small villiage called Ghoul-Ash the Bane, once an adventuring group from The Enchanted Gates. I am Kromkar Alathrit, and have been the leader, broker, and mayor since we embarked in our travels. At first the seven of us were worried, but we found plentiful wood, easily mined shale, and a fresh source of water. For the past two and a half years, everything has gone great. We increased our population to seventy-four dwarves, all good and stout, nary a useless profession amongst us. We had just begun to seriously smith our tradegoods when -it- was made.

The dwarf who made it, an immigrant named Zon Asobothos, called it Hoofclapped. It was a vicious-looking iron crown, with bits of bloody rope-reed hanging from its menacing spikes. Since the day it was created, we have seen no end of strife. Soon after, a foul mood spread 'cross the fortress. I mandated the forming of a fortress guard, in addition to our already large military of fourteen dwarves. This brought our total of trained fighters to twenty; Two marksdwarves (including the sheriff), six hammerdwarves, two speardwarves, four swordsdwarves, and the rest as wrestlers. We had four legendary wrestlers, champions in the realm, and renowned the world over. This was not fated to be however.

Shortly after the arrival of the human caravan in summertime, trouble increased. Our sizable military had dealt with the kobold and goblin thieves, and what they didn't catch, our traps did. As the human caravan concluded its trading with us, our fisherdwarves raised the alarm. A force of ten goblins was attempting to enter through the western tunnel. The anglers grappled with the goblins before being skewered by crossbow bolts. IT gave me just enough time to have the floodgates opened, the raging river now channeled into the sealed death trap. Unfortunately, none of the goblins were inside. It was at this point I suspected the leader of the raiding party was quite vicious and skilled, so I had the militia take up arms. Another fifteen dwarves were added to our military strength, including all my woodcutters and carpenters, and my miners. As I gave the order to raise the drawbridge, preparing for a flank through a secret tunnel that exited behind the goblins; The foolish commander of my woodworker squad, The Mythical Abbeys, rushed forth with his men to save his wife, a mason of great renown, having created an artifact called Rootwind, a shale amulet. The goblin crossbowmen dropped three of the eight before they could close to axe-range. They fought savagely, and managed to kill all but the leader, who finished off that poor fool Mistem Alathular with a bolt to his unconscious head before the beast fled the two woodcutters charging down the hill.

This was not the worst, for we had much food and drink in storage, and could wait until more carpenters were trained to pick up the reins of barrel-making. It was at this point that our butcher lost it. He went on a tantrum in the dining hall, smashing two shale tables in twain before he smashed the animal trapper into the wall, quite severely damaging both his head and pelvic area. The fortress guard managed to detain him in the jail, behind the hard iron bars I had mandated be used for just this sort of incident. Then more dwarves lost it; the weaponsmith, the engraver, a metalcrafter, and a farmer. The engraver shattered a mechanics upper legs in the dining hall with a chair, before the guards beat him into submission. Then the metalcrafter broke a different engravers leg, with his bare hands. At this time, a child brought with the last wave of immigrants went insane. He attempted to kill the only brewer in the fortress, and was put down by a nearby wrestler.

In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn't have had Thikut, the wife of the late Mistem, build the coffins. But she was the best mason in the fortress, and the dead needed to be returned to the stone before the monkeys got to them. I think she broke down when she made her husbands casket, the last in an order of caskets that left room for two additional deaths. She went insane as well, and a guardsmen was attacked by her and cut her down with his sword. Even now I can hear the fortress descending into anarchy. The center cannot hold in this widening gyre of insanity caused by Hoofclapped.

This is the first, and methinks last, report the mountainhome shall receive. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to reclaim Ghoul-Ash. Its name is true, it is a Bane and curse to all dwarfdom.

-Long Live Queen Zaneg!

--Kromkar Alathrit

Cog Thabostcatten, the little girl that hated everything

One fine day, the fortress Izengengish was blessed with a little baby girl, and her parents settled on naming her "Cog Thabostcatten". Cog had little appreciation or understanding for art, but she had a divine mission to create an artifact specifically to taunt those ridiculous, silky-haired, beardless hippies that came into her fortress skipping and holding hands each year. She gathered chalk, steel, and fire agate, then set to work on making a subtly offensive mug. After about a week of toiling, she created from chalk a mug that menaced with spikes of steel and bore the images of larch trees and leaves in fire agate. After selling it to the frolicking mary-sues at a nonsensically unfair price, Cog went back to doing all kinds of little girl stuff. The "FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU" squealed by the elves when they realized exactly what the images on the mug were meant to represent could be heard for miles. Cog grew to be a superdwarvenly tough and sassy young lady, constantly intimidating and picking fights with loiterers on her free time. She was studying to become an engineer and siege operator, when the people of Izengengish decided that she aught to be mayor. Her first act upon being elected was to order the construction of a fortified bunker featuring four ballistas, one facing each cardinal direction, as well as some big gold and platinum statues to make it blingtacular. Shortly after the ultra funky bling time ballista party room had been completed, a massive goblin force rolled into town and managed to make its way into her awesome ballista party room, using a troll slave to destroy the hatch covers barring entry from below. Upon realizing she was surrounded, Cog entered a martial trance. The exact death toll is to this day unknown, but it is estimated that Cog utterly destroyed thirty five goblins of various professions before collapsing from her injuries and losing conciousness. Though she was recovered as quickly as possible, Cog unfortunately bled out before she could be taken to a bed to rest, and died at the tender young age of fourteen. It seems that of all the things she hated, the one thing she hated most was life.

The '45. The Year of Hell

The Fortress was Clutchtour. The year was 245, a full 16 years after Endok Ageshmorul's legendary stand. The fortress had become much more militant when it was discovered they could subsist solely on the spoils of war from goblin corpses. The guard and royal guard numbered 30 dwarves. A 50 dwarf regular military was maintained with 2 branches, light infantry (marksdwarves) under Captain Eral Sirabdakas and the heavy infantry (melee fighters) under Captain Sodel Zaneg. Each branch consisted of several independent companies. The whole structure was under the commanding officer of the guard, Major Sigun Berkithin. A rotating watch system was employed to keep caravans safe adn to kill any enterprising goblin or kobold theives. It worked flawlessly for years.

The spring goblin siege went off without a hitch. The goblins had been killed to the last without a single dwarven injury. It had been so for years. It may have made the soldiers overconfident. The summer siege was disasterous. Two goblin detachments entered Clutchtour territory near the Gate, one detachment on either side of it. The two heavy infantry companies stationed at the gate were dispatched to deal with them. The 1st company under Captain Zaneg was dispatched to the east. The 2nd company under Lt Rith Kikrost was dispatched to the west. Shortly before the invasion, the leftenant had decided to take lunch and took most of the company with him. The only remaining squad belonged to Sergeant Dodok Artum, a hero of Clutchtour. She took her orders and her two privates and charged the goblins. Her subordinates (Privates Fikod Fikuksibrek and Tulon Orrun) fell quickly to goblin spears. Sgt Artum herself felled 3 goblins before being killed with the newborn she was carrying with her.. The 1st company was at full strength and dispatched its target with ease and had been ordered to support its sister company. But it was half the map away. Some members of the light infantry who had been practicing on outdoor archery targets took it upon themselves to be a stopgap. Lts Ast Batokdurad (6th company) Mosus Kizbiz (3rd company) Corporal Kogsak Ducim (3rd company) and Sergeant Bomrek Stakudbecor (Lt infantry reserves and drill sergeant) held the line until the 1st company arrived. For their trouble, Lt Kizbiz and his corporal were severely wounded and carried to the infirmary. The rest of the goblins ran.

Sgt Dodok Artum had married a member of the Royal Guard. Most of her surviving children joined the military as they grew up. One of them had been Private Fikod who died with his mother. This resulted in a slew of heavily depressed dwarves with weapons. In the second half of the month, things spiraled out of control. Corporal Morul Etescatten, one of Sgt Artum's daughters, of the light infantry broke down in a tantrum near the trade depot and began firing bolts in to the massed people. She shot and killed weaver Zon Voboketas. The guard promptly took her out. Days later in the infirmary, Crp Kogsak Ducim went in to a rage and shot and killed his comatose superior officer in the bed next to him. It was an unfitting end for a veteran of 22 years. A nearby sparring guardsdwarf put the corporal down. Private Asob Sakzulagos fell into melancholy and dehydrated to death. A heavy infantry private named Tulon Imeshmafol went berserk but was felled before he could hurt anyone. The insanity continued through fall. The final blow was yet to be struck.

The fall siege had been dealt with by traps, the instability of the troops leading to orders to move inside and let the invaders kill themselves. By winter, things seemed to be heading towards normality. The killings had slowed. Occasionally, one of Sgt Artum's younger children would snap and have to be put down but equilibrium was close.

The Goblins attacked. Confident, the heavy infantry moved in to battle. The 3rd company under Sergeant Major Vabok Arel was strong. Its ranks were filled with champion dwarves. Few dwarves in the military were as distinguished as the Sgt Mjr himself. Arel had 22 years of service under his belt and over 60 kills to his name. His company bore down on the goblin detachments. As the warriors met, a goblin spear user, a normal rank and file goblin, got a million to one shot. Sgt mjr Arel had killed dozens like him but this one managed to pierce the sgt mjr's armor and strike a fatal blow. Vabok Arel was the first casualty of the battle. Instead of capitulating, one of his NCOs, Corporal Kubuk Tetthush took command lead the squad for the remainder of the fight. He took 17 goblin heads in revenge for his dead friend and superior. Kubuk Tetthush received a a statue in his tomb for his superior service in the line of duty.

The moment 246 rolled around, the killings stopped. No more children went berserk. No one went melancholic. Before Sgt Artum had gone into battle, she had 14 of her 20 children still alive. When they had finished grieving her death, only 6 remained. Lt Rith's cowardice and abandonment of his post was cited as the reason for the catastrophe and he was demoted to Ensign. The numbers 45 and 245 are now considered cursed or unlucky inside Sholidsigun.

The Siege of PaintFeed ^DF

Paintfeed, or Logemked in the Dwarf tongue, was now firmly on the world map. Goblins had been repulsed, trade was good, and their stone crafts were coveted throughout their parent nation and many elven and human ones as well. However, the goblins were angry. In fell revenge for their slain comrades, and a greedy grab for the Paintfeed wealth, a goblin siege appeared. No big problem, the military thought. Only 5...10...16...30...50??!!

At this time in the history of Paintfeed, the military was a small force of 10 dwarves. 7 grizzled champions, 2 wrestlers and a recruit. 2 of the champions were marksdwarves. The rest wielded swords or nothing.

The Mayor gave an order and word went up. In the dining room, an ancient lever was tugged, rusted mechanisms sprung into place. The Bridge of Outer Paintfeed rose. Slowly the fortress was cut off from the outside world.

The goblins milled outside of Paintfeed, unsure of their next move. Dwarves inside worried about dwindling wood stocks. Charcoal, and thus metal production ground to a halt (this was before the Great Magma Discovery of 205). Dwarves fought over lack of booze barrels.

Finally, in a last ditch attempt, the 10 military dwarves massed by the gate for a final charge at the 50+ strong goblin menace. The squad leaders, Lorbam and Ducim, both grizzled champions, sent out the call.

"Lower the gate!"

The goblins charged Paintfeed. The two marksdwarves prayed to Armok as they let loose bolt after bolt behind the charging warriors. Goblins fell left and right as the swordsdwarves and marksdwarves rained upon them. Finally, the siege was broken. The cowardly goblins retreated to their towers with huge losses. Only two dwarves were killed, a champion and a recruit. Both were given great funerals by many dwarves. Goblin death count was slightly under forty, many chopped into pieces in the chaos. Goblin chunks littered the well. But Paintfeed had won, and trade went on, now with rooms and rooms of goblin junk to boot!

Confineink, Part 1^DF

An attempt at a serious serialised novel, based on a standard game of DF.

“So,” sighed the Queen, “There are these seven dwarves among us who have already told me personally that they will happily take up the challenge for the glory of Logem Teskom. Between them, all devoted professionals, they are a miner, a mason, a woods-dwarf, a farmer, a cook, and a mechanic. They shall be led by Mosus,” the Queen mo- tioned to her right, in case any of the silent council could have forgotten who she was, “Who has over the years proven to all of us the excellence of her thought, the realism of her plans, and the trueness of her ambition. Unless any- one else has any objections...” the Queen paused for a mo- ment, eyes sweeping the council which sat in heavy silence, “...they shall leave this place, head south-east to where the Empty Barbs meet the forest and the Untamed Mire, and set up a home there. If they are never seen again, then we shall have lost but seven dwarves,” she shrugged, “Which while a grievance would not critically endanger our civilisation. If, however, they are successful, and I am sure you will all agree that between my own and Mosus’ judgement that we have thought this through, then we shall have a new portion of this untamed wilderness to call our own, a new bane to the goblins’ apparent heedlessness of true civilisation, a re- minder to the Elves to keep their incessant breeding to themselves and a new channel by which to get our trade goods to the Menfolk.” The Queen waited a moment for any new objections, her bright blue eyes scanning back and forth across the table. All were silent. “At which point,” she continued, “No doubt word shall spread via the mercantile network, as it always does, to our advantage. The new fortress shall attract migrants, no doubt, perhaps from other kingdoms, mayhap from our own fort- resses. Who knows,” the Queen laughed faintly, “Perhaps I shall end up moving there myself.”

The novel has no pretentions. It's not played for laughs, although some might call parts of it humorous, there's no special challenge for the migrants to accomplish (yet), and the game is played on standard Dwarf Fortress with no mods. The game is being conducted in-character. Mosus might not be making the best strategic decisions but she's trying her best. There is a back-story, but mainly the idea behind the experiment was to record, in novel format, the experience of the new outpost as it plays out in a standard game. There's some combat, romance and intrigue but the first part only gets to the first migration wave in Spring of the second year, so it really is the orientation stage of the novel. There's quite a bit of description of the world, because the writing was intended to be accessible to non-DF players too, but hopefully its recounted in an interesting enough way to not wear on the patience of dedicated players.

Download links

DF: Confineinks Part 1, Open Document Text, White cover DF: Confineinks Part 1, Portable Document Format, White cover DF: Confineinks Part 1, Open Document Text, Black cover DF: Confineinks Part 1, Portable Document Format, Black cover DF: Confineinks Part 1, Plain Text (utf-8)

The founding of Kudustadil^DF

How far had they traveled? Iden Kikrostdetes could no longer be certain. Many a night had been spent sleeping in the wagon, the miner's picks and woodcutter's ax their only protection. After what had seemed a full Age, Iden's small band arrived at the lands she had been sent to survey.

A small outpost, they said they wanted. Perhaps more, if the initial settlement thrived well. Lolor Savot, the dwarven kingdom known in common as The Letter of Stances, had wanted to extend its claim on land. Iden had not been the only one sent, though she felt the others had been sent to better lands.

"Aye. This be no bad land." Reg Thobdomas spoke softely, as though reading Iden's mind. It put her at ease. Say what you will about the uneducated oaf, Reg was one of the best miners around and knew decent mining land when he saw it. That was the reason she had handpicked him to embark on this journey. And of course, he could not leave the homeland without Kogan Kengmomuz, his faithful trainee, trailing at his heels.

"Though not much for woodlands," Udib Emenmuthkat observed. "All the better, I suppose, I'll not be able to cut them all down and make them into bed's for new ones replace them."

"And just as well! I had planned to farm Plump Helmets not trees."

Iden had handpicked them all. For their stubbornness as much as their skill in trades. Reg and Kogan could mine faster than any other four dwarves around, and Reg had a knack for finding gems and minerals. Udib was a master carpenter who insisted upon felling wood himself. "Otherwise I'll have inferior material" he would say. Dobar Asmellek, the farmer whom had chastised Udib, and Stinthad Torishkubuk could till and plant a field in a day. Dobar had also been learning stilling back in Lolor Savot. The last was Shorast Velsodel, a stoneworker of few words. His crafts were top, though, and he had some skill in building design. Iden felt that was important. It was he who she asked where best to begin their outpost.

"Small pass between mountains over yonder. Carve the sides to cliffs, build into one side for shelter, other side for barracks if soldiers come." Shorast went silent, feeling he had said enough for the day. For the month, even, if Iden had observed anything about the dwarf.

"Not bad plan, I say so meself. We be well defended goblins come." Reg was already heading towards the small pass, Kogan behind him, both readying their picks. Calling them off was pointless. Reg mined when he wanted to. Udib hefted his ax to his shoulder. "Might as well start breaking down this wagon, then, and going about getting some lumber together. We'll need beds 'fore too long." "Come Stinthad, let's go find some fruit and herb's before the lummox chops down the entire forest"

The dwarves dispersed, all knowing what needed to be done without being told. Almost. Iden and Shorast still stood watching for a time. "Shorast...we'll need to plan the layout for the fortress. If we leave it to Reg, we'll have tunnels leading to nowhere, stairs leading to the very pits of hell, and no real rooms to speak of. Come, help me take inventory of our resources and plan our new home. Kudustadil"

And so it was that the outpost of Kudustadil was founded in the rolling hills many miles south of the dwarven kingdom Lolor Savot.

- Oh there is so much more to tell. This has been my most successful fortress to date. The location couldn't be more perfect. There is only two ways to get at the fortress entrance (main entrance), and I've both trapped to high heaven. And with my barracks right in front of the entrance, anything that does get through is instantly thrashed. So many goblin raids held off. I hope to relate more of this story later.

The Smallest Immigrant's Tale^DF

This is the story of Mosus Tangathzulban. She was but a small child when the incident happened, her mother and father decided it would be best for their family to depart their homeland for a nearby up and coming fortress named "Nobfikod".

The small family of three was traveling with eight other immigrants. What suprises lay ahead? Fancy dining halls? Individual bedrooms? Idols and amazing items of the highest quality? All of these exciting new things to look forward to! "I hope they have bactrian milk daddy." Mosus proclaimed to which her father responded "I'm sure there will be all sorts of things there you'll like"

"I see Dwarves!" shouted one of the immigrants from up ahead "They must be coming to greet us!" Mosus and the immigrants rushed forward to greet their new friends, but something wasn't right. As they got closer, a gruesome scene was laid out before them. On top of the hillside were eight dwarves, filled with arrows and covered in blood. Mosus let forth a terrible cry and ran to her father.

It was one of the founding dwarves named "Iton" that gave them the warning. An arrow had pierced his neck and he spat up blood as he spoke "Ambshh.. Curse Them! entrance.... east". The last words he could muster before taking his final breath.

As they neared the entrance to the fortress they saw a trade caravan of treehuggers fighting off several goblin archers, four dwarves emerged from the fortress and put themselves between the immigrants and the peasants. The immigrants made it safely inside while those four brave dwarves sacrificed their lives.

There were several traps in the front doorway and three guard dogs posted behind the traps. Once they were safely behind the war dogs Zefon quickly turned around to see a small kitten get impaled through the stomach. The goblins advanced into the fortress and let loose a volley on the war dogs, killing one of them instantly. As the goblins advanced closer, many great boulders dropped from above and crushed some of them, two had been captured in traps.

Without a word the dwarves left the fortress to gather up their dead. They had to fight against raccoons for the bloody clothes of their fallen comrades and Mosus watched the as the two remaining founding dwarves approached the caged goblins and furiously flung them into the pit of pure remorse.

Mosus started to cry because her child-like mind had no way of preparing her for what she had just witnessed. After crying for several minutes, a ragged hand lifted up her chin. "Have some nice warm milk" said a calm voice. Mosus began to calm down and as she drank the bactrian milk she swore that she would do everything in her power to ensure something like this never happened again.

Mosus currently leads the largest squad in the entire Nobfikod army, and to this day there has not been an incident nearly as bad as the fateful day she arrived.

The origin of goblin thieves

Located here.

Mouthsmouldered and Logem Cattenromek

Located here.

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 These are stories created by users based on their experiences in-game. They take what happened in-game, and go into more detail. Feel free to add your own!
-=== The psychotic dwarf who could (swim)<sup>DF</sup> ===
-Long long ago, back in the early ages of the world, there was a modest fortress known as Mournriddle the Mortified Armored Beetles of Angels. Now, it is simply known as Mournriddle. After it's founding in 210, it quickly grew in prosperity. One day, a certain Mebzuth Inkpuzzled had a wonderful idea for armor. Alas! The steel and iron brought to the fortress from caravans had ran out just a week ago when the very same dwarf created a wonderful variety of sheilds and chainmail. Mournriddle's leader was somewhat inexperienced, and a bit of a packrat, so it only occured to him later to melt down iron goods, and by then it was too late.
-Inkpuzzled finally snapped, and started babbling everywhere. He eventually jumped into a small lake after nearly fully stripping himself of all clothing. He began to drown, and everyone wrote him off as dead. But then, something amazing happened. He learned to swim! He quickly became tougher and a better swimmer, and even falling asleep in the water could not prevent him from breathing! A year and a half later, after reaching grand master rank in swimming.
-At least that's what the official records say. Adventurers who travelled to Mournriddle years after it's downfall at the hands of a massive siege said that, even after clearing out all of the goblins who had claimed the fortress as their own, they still heard the faint paddling of a dwarf, swimming for all eternity to seek solace from his own insanity.
-----
 ===Urdim's blowgun<sup>DF</sup>===

Difference between revisions of "40d:Stories"

Revision as of 00:09, 4 March 2010

Urdim's blowgunDF

The Shellfish DietDF

Any CostDF

The turtle shell IdolDF

The Story of TreatyflamesDF

The first half year of OnulodDF

Did the elk damage his brain, or was he just stupid?DF

The Merciless GearsDF

"A Touch Warm" IndeedDF

The Eventual TriumphDF

Endok Ageshmorul, The Guard's FinestDF

Tekkudsherik, PickperplexDF

Boo the MightyDF

The Emergency ProtocolDF

First Line of DefenseDF

The (Attempted) Rape of WebglazeDF

Tradeddawn's LegacyDF

The Goblin Ambush of IronwallsDF

The Worst TitanDF

dwarf cabin feverDF

Damn those Elves!DF

The Expeditioner's LogsDF

The mayor who couldAD

The Chef's Fine DishDF

Keeping the new boss happy...DF

Flushed Away...DF

Don't Feed the SpidersDF

The Epic of Tholtig Cryptbrain, Queen of the Bronze Orbs, Ruler of Circletower, Elven GenocideDF

The Story of Hoofclapped, Downfall of Ghoul-Ash the BaneDF