Difference between revisions of "40d:Stories"

Revision as of 13:17, 8 March 2008

The Situation Worsens

(read the below introduction or just view the image with knowledge that this is my first fortress) It was my second spring, and my already bad situation was becoming worse fast. After jumping into the world for the first time with my wiki-supported build, i was working my way through my first year. It was going relatively well, as far as I knew, but I was slowly running out of supplies. By the time the traders came for the first time I wasn't prepared. Though, driven by the knowledge that my meat supplies were already naught, I quickly build a trade depot and managed to trade a mechanism for a small portion of meat. Admittedly, I did not build these to trade them. Sadly the stone items I had crafted for trading were sacrificed to their dwarven leader due to a large misreading on my part. This is a mistake which, I can only assume, was the trigger for my problems in the future. As the trading caravan moved away I tried to prepare for a long winter with low supplies. My food quickly ran low and, left only with seeds due to a large farming accident involving a (poorly)controlled flooding system, most of my dwarven inhabitants were soon hunting for vermin to survive. Though my hope was diminishing I kept struggling to keep my team alive. One day as I was orchestrating their movements I glanced to the bottom of my screen, and to my amazement I read the words "Spring has arrived!". I was not only delighted, but now filled with ideas and hope. So i began to work towards recovering, but because of my lacking knowledge and experience (not to mention the constant flooding of my farm), I could only maintain my current state. I worked along, but one day... (I wasn't quite expecting the 18 new immigrants in the middle of spring...

invasion of the ratmen

It was the 3rd autumn of the dwarves expedition to this mountain. Every thing was great. They were trying to build over the monstrous magma river. All effort was put on getting the steel for the bridge. the outposts warrior was out getting wood for the winter. Then the ratmen came. the dwarves met them before. 2 or 3 at a time. This was the ratmen's final attack on the dwarves. 20 ratmen snuck up on them killing all but the dwarf far away. When He came back he went crazy, killing all, or so he thought. One last ratman snuck up and pushed the brave dwarf off the edge falling to his death.

A harsh winter

It was a harsh winter, my barreled fish had run out all too soon. My Dwarfs were miserable, some had resorted to vermin. My fisherdwarf was being enterprising, fishing alone in the cavern stream. Unfortunately frogmen jumped from the icy waters and surrounded him biting and pummeling him. He was rescued but the event caused him to lose what little was left of his sanity. He began to start fist fights. He started one with the metal worker, the fisherman's faithful dog interrupted him - he took out his cross bow and shot his only pet dead. (He was later killed by the rest of the dwarf clan.)

A small problem

Sankis got that small problem after trying to flood a room:

File:Lolflood.jpg(picture currently doesn't work)

The Dog Dwarves of Inktin

In the year 1052 they arrived at the site of their future mountain fortress, hungry, tired, cold, and with a wagon full of dogs and rum. The rum was quickly drunk, but the dogs stayed with the dwarves as they carved out their home. The dogs... they multiplied. Soon they outnumbered the dwarves many times over. As a visitor in a passing caravan or as a new migrant, you'll find that their home is the safest in all the lands, being guarded by endless hordes of vicious wardogs.

If you spent any time around them however, you'd find them a bit peculiar. They wore leather, lots of it. They made fine crafts of stone and bone... lots of bone. And their larders were always well stocked with meat that tastes unlike most meals that you'd find anywhere else. At that point a thought would strike you and you'd excuse yourself, edging your way out the dining room then running for the exit and your trading wagons, eager to flee, past the kitchen doorway, through which you'd see lots of adorable little puppies milling about a large slab, covered with blood and with a cleaving knife laid across it, a steady stream of bones and hides being borne out towards the workshops.

They really do love their dogs at Inktin.

Parabolart's Carpenter

"Great. My carpenter got possessed and all he made was a wooden barrel. He gave it a name though!" -- parabolart

The Lunatic Child

Right before our second winter, a child was born - as his mother was attacked by a pack of frogmen at the well. Strategic parts of the ceiling collapsed on the frogmen and a pair of marksdwarves down the hall opened fire, slaying the intruders where they stood, even as the child Edem came into the world. Edem's mother, Lokem, died of thirst in the winter: she was so distraught over her rambunctious son that she never took a drink of water. At the beginning of the following summer (our third at Netdune), Edem was possessed by a fey spirit. Into a craftdwarf's workshop, he took a turtle shell and two rolls of cloth, one of pig tail and one of spider silk. A month later, he emerged a Legendary Bone Carver. In his Extremely Tough hand lie Onshenfikuk Dalkamkizest Ozor, or "Chantfields the Lean Zeal of Subtetly." Edem had changed: he was Strong and Very Agile, and still less than a year old.

My First Fortress

As I said, the fortress I'm playing is my first, and I assumed it was doomed. I never got farming going the first year, and I was low on food through the winter. I read here about slaughtering mules and horses, so I did that, and that helped. Although when the first horse was slaughtered like 6 dwarves gathered around and then were kind mopey about it having "witnessed death." Then in early spring, when the farm got running (I never did make a working floodgate, but I just let the river flood my fields) I figured I might just make it. Then the frogmen came and attacked my farm. They struck down one of my peasants but the rest of the dwarves beat the frogmen with their bare hands.

Then a trapper started throwing a tantrum. She was doing it in her sleep, so I look, and she was married to the dead peasant, AND had a miscarriage, so was distraught over that. I was going to put a door on her room and lock her in, but she got better. But then later on when the human caravan showed up (with nothing but food ) she went nuts again and struck down a peasant herself. Then she ran off next to the lake and I figured she'd mope herself to death.

Nope. She eventually came back in and started hitting people. The carpenter smacked her right in the head (yellow!) and she finally went back to her room to lie down. I ordered a door put on her room but she went nuts when the laborer came by to do it and ran out (with a wounded head!) and smacked a jeweler in the head as well. Finally I got a door on her room, and when she went back in, I locked the door. So now she's in there raging and throwing tantrums, but I am NOT going to let her out. I've lost enough dwarves over all her PMS.

-- Doctor Zero (Aug 21, 2006)

Postscript: She eventually calmed down and hadn't thrown a tantrum for quite a while, so I started feeling bad for her. Who wouldn't go a little nuts after losing a husband and baby? So I let her out of her room, and she immediately runs down to the dining room and strikes down a peasant. Before I can do anything about it, a dog comes out of nowhere and rips off her arm and tears out her abdomen. She struggles with the dog for a while, rapidly losing strength. She finally slips unconscious. The dog, now tired from the struggle, proceeds to slowly (and I mean SLOWLY) tear her apart limb from limb right there in the entry to the dining room. It took so long, she woke up halfway through and started struggling with the dog, but only having one good limb at this point was kinda detrimental. She finally bled to death.

The Secret Desire

A healthy colony of dwarves was bolstered by the arrival (as usual) in early fall of a metalsmith. She was a hearty and jolly spirit named Etur, and she worked hard to become a part of the thriving community.

Soon after Etur arrived, a trader caravan of two mules was spotted in the distance, across the river. Unfortunately, that side of the river was also the domain of a crazy herd of elephants, and some vicious tigers. As the caravan drew closer, the elephants charged and stomped one of the mules and it's attendant. The rest of the caravan was scattered to the four winds, and the corpse remained with oodles of booty for looting laying out on the ground around the mule's corpse.

After some quick raiders managed to bring some bolts of silk back to the fortress, Etur was entranced by the beautiful fabric. She thought of nothing more all day than getting herself a bolt and fashioning a dress, and maybe a collar for her cat. But the elephants and tigers across the river meant that salvaging anything from the corpse was risky.

But one night, while the rest of the community lay snuggly in their beds, Etur and her cat set out towards the river. After crossing the bridge and seeing no Elephants in sight, Etur made a mad dash for the stash, kitty in tow. But just as she began to head back, silk tucked under her arm and cat chasing behind her,a rogue elephant came charging after her. She ran as fast as her stumpy little legs could take her. In a heartbeat, she was across the bridge and heading for home, but the elephant stormed across and stomped her into paste.

As the insane pachyderm left her corpse behind, Etur's cat cuddled up at her lifeless feet. Her comrades remained asleep and did not find her body until the next morning.

The Tragic Miner

Kol Sedilònul had a good life at the fortress of Atöllogem (translated as "Findpaint" in the human tongue). She worked hard day in and day out at her mining duties, and attained the rank of Legend. How could she have know that the day ònul Eraraban arrived at the settlement would be the beginning of the end for her?

Despite the master's prohibition against hunting, ònul set out for the wilds immediately after arriving to see what beasts he could trap or kill. Unfortunately, he decided to try his luck against a herd of gorillas. Even more unfortunately, he lived through his massive head injuries and managed to crawl back to the barracks.

For the next year, ònul spent his time tantruming in the corner bed, refusing to let his wounds heal. One day he finally snapped, took up his crossbow, and shot three other dwarves before being put down by the highly trained swordsdwarves of Atöllogem. One of those three was Kol.

Though she took only a glancing blow to the head, Kol was never the same after that day. She found herself losing consciousness on the way to the dig sites. When she woke up, she would painfully crawl back to her bed, by which time she felt strong enough to go back to work, only to pass out again and again.

On the final day of her life, Kol felt herself swooning. She summoned all her rage, fought back against the darkness, and stayed on her feet. She knew she couldn't go on like this... so she went straight to the only bridge across the cave river and dropped it out from under herself, frustrating the sheriff, who despite his best efforts couldn't shackle her drowned corpse. Kol had washed up on the far side of the river, just a few paces away from the newly dug tombs.

Olon the Kinslayer, leatherworker of Yore

So I barely made it through the winter. Didnt have to eat the dogs, but I was at the point where half my dwarves were hunting for vermin, while my few desperate fisherman fished up a storm from the underground river, and tried to clean the damn things at a pace to meet demand. Lost a dwarf to starvation, but made it to spring and finally got some crops in the ground. My early spring migrants doubled my population, bringing all sorts of useless talent (oh hurray... more jewelers...).

The only solution of course was to make the jewelers hunters. Armed with the few crossbows I had around, or their fists, Olin and Edem set out to hunt deer. Edem has become a rockstar, wrestling 5-10 deer to death, occasionally deigning to fire fish bone crossbow bolts to do the job. Olin on the other hand got his ass handed to him, and is currently being starved to death in his room.

Now then, this finally brings us to my story. As a result of having all this deer carcass to process, I set the butchery to repeat butcher, and rooted around to find my one novice butcher, and set him to work. A day or so later, tragedy strikes. "Olon Erithseneb has been taken by a fell mood! Olon Erithseneb has killed Vabok! Olon has claimed a butchery!"

So here I am panicking a moment. As I take a look, it appears he entered his little craftsmen's trance, seizing the butchery for his holy/unholy work (already I am a little concerned). As my butcher was currently in there trying to butcher deer at a frantic pace, murder was obviously the answer.

So after a day or so of dedicated work, Olon emerges victorious having created this:

Olon Erethseneb has created Kessoshosh, a dwarf leather leggings!

Now unless I am misunderstanding this, his fey trance led him to murder a fellow countryman.... and create pants from his still bleeding corpse.

Simply stunning. He is of course a legendary leatherworker now... I can only hope he will be happy working with more mundane materials in the future....

The Goblin Siege

In the early spring of 1058, the glorious dwarven fortress of Faththatthil, or "Sackautumn" to the merchants, entered the 6th year of its reign. Nearly 100 dwarves had hollowed a massive dwelling out of the sheer mountainside. Food and drink were in plenty, all dwarves were content, and children roamed the halls.

Without warning, the Dwarves were suddenly besieged by a massive host of Goblins. The moat ringed the outside perimeter of the mountain, called Shantytown for its hodgepodge collection of workshops. There were three entrances, the North, South, and West bridges. All of the local soldiers were standing down, practicing archery, or sleeping in their beds. They were quickly roused by a call to arms. Dwarves ran through the halls, grabbing weapons, shoving on armor, drafting a militia.

The ragtag group assembled on the West Bridge, guarded by a now ammo-less ballista. It's sole shot had been used to destroy a renegade carpenter, and had not been reloaded recently. First one squad arrived, then two, then nearby dwarves were drafted and sent to pick up crossbows. The defense looked like it had a chance. The goblin horde rolled across the plains, heading south along the river to the bridge. The goblins numbered at least 15, and were bringing foul dogs with them.

By now all nearby dwarves had been enlisted, and they were standing grimly at the West Bridge. Only a handful of soldiers and an equal number of conscripted miners and carpenters were there. Kogan Keskalolin, the founder of Sackautumn, was at the head of the pack. A massive dwarf hefting an iron pick as though it were so little weight, he inspired the others. The Champion and Captain of Sackautumn remained inside, readying a secondary defense and patrolling the traps.

The goblins came, blotting out the sky with arrows. Shafts rained down on the dwarves, piercing flesh and armor. The dwarves mounted a shaky charge, faltering under the horrific onslaught. One dwarf was down to arrows, now two, several more wounded and bleeding. Finally they reached the goblin lines, hacking and bludgeoning. Heads and limbs flew through the air, and the goblins routed. All of the fleeing goblins were cut down easily. Unfortunately a band of looting monkeys attempted to raid the battlefield, but the weary veterans quickly destroyed them.

West Bridge was littered with the dead and dying, covered in fallen armor, weapons, limbs, and blood. Slain monkeys added a touch of humor to the macabre sight. Kogan Keskalolin, the Eldest Dwarf, had fallen in battle, and the Fortress mourned.

All in all 11 goblins had been killed, with the loss of only 4 dwarves. The siege was lifted and the dwarves began replenishing their depleted army.

Unfortunately, only a few months later, the goblins returned. This time there was a full 30 of them, each bringing a pet beak dog with them. The ponderous Human caravan was brutally massacred and 30 dwarves were slain alongside it. The goblins were eventually killed after breaching the fortress and catching the attention of the fortress guard.

The dwarves, sick of so much death, relocated to a new fortress.

The Doom That Came to Ghostgates

Ghostgates, the most staggering and impressive dwelling of the Dwarves in all of Emeecamo, the Land of Prophecy, had a small amount of trouble with its first captain of the guard. See, the dwarves of the Ghostgates felt that amassing great wealth was a far more promising enterprise than joining the Fortress Guard, so the Captain took out his loneliness on the fortress' trade depot. Which had human merchants (and their wares) currently occupying it.

The Captain was eventually put down when the rest of the dwarves didn't feel like coping with his bullshit, but as for the human merchants...they just sat there. For years. Finally, they disappeared.

Six years passed without a wagon caravan from the human civilization. Four years of Ghostgates' hoards enlarging and caverns deepening. Its cup runneth over with ale, and the tables were buried under platters of plump helmets.

And then the humans returned. At their head, a swordmaster, with about forty troops in tow. No warning. Ghostgates paid for its hubris. The token twelve military dwarves assembled at the ivory gates, brought their crossbows to bear, and were promptly RENDED INTO PULP by the human leader. He then proceeded to cut a swathe towards the river, where he HACKED THE BRIDGE IN TWAIN, leaving horrified "east enders" to starve while he painted the walls with the dwarves on the west side of the river.

Town Astebkol

Town Astebkol was a dwarf fortress with a population hovering around a hundred dwarves. They have been at war with Damsto Rost, a powerful tribe of goblins, for most of the fortress’ existence. Astebkol has weathered three sieges, each more brutal than the last.

The First Siege of Astebkol

The first siege was more of a raiding party than a true siege. About ten dwarves foolish enough to remain outside after the goblins were sighted were killed by crossbow bolts. The goblins then reached the main gates, which were, conveniently enough, left open. Their charge through the gates was blunted by a large array of traps, significantly reducing their numbers before Astebkol’s fortress guardsmen stepped in. Two guardsmen broke their charge, and then chased them back to the river and out of Astebkol territory, felling two thirds of the remaining goblins on the way.

The Second Siege of Astebkol

The second siege didn't go nearly as well. By this time, Astebkol’s population was nearing one hundred and twenty. A human caravan (with whom the dwarves were looking forward to some very profitable trade) had just arrived on the edge of Astebkol lands when Goblins were sighted. Uh Oh. The dwarves figured that the humans would have little trouble dispatching the goblins, and then the goblins’ equipment would be free for the looting. Instead, ten goblins riding powerful beak dogs arrived with a godlike shaman as their leader. They made quick work of the surprised humans and their wagons.

The goblins charged forward across Astebkol’s bridge. A couple dozen dwarves were drafted and they prepared to retreat into the mountain stronghold when they noticed that the goblins had a second wave of beasts inbound, TROLLS. A brief skirmish was fought outside the gates, with dwarf marksmen picking off several goblins and war dogs throwing themselves at the goblins with reckless abandon. Then the trolls arrived. They quickly destroyed the many outdoor workshops before joining up with the remaining goblins. The goblins and trolls charged the gates of my fortress, destroying the gates that stood in their way with ease. Fortunately, the dwarves had upgraded their traps since the First Siege of Astebkol, and most of the invaders were butchered. Three trolls managed to flee after carrying out some additional random destruction.

The dwarves took roughly twenty seven casualties in the battle, and lost almost all of their war dogs. Thanks to the work of the Captain of the Guards, tantruming dwarves were dealt with quite efficiently. In addition, the supplies from the destroyed human caravan were gathered by a river of dwarves flowing to and from the edge of the map.

The Third Siege of Astebkol

It looked like the end for Astebkol. Damsto Rost arrived for the third time, this time committing their entire army. Seventy-Seven goblins arranged in five war bands, all riding beak dogs, with multiple mace lords, sword masters, elite bowmen and a master lasher. Two of the war bands approached from the north, while the three others approached from the south. In addition, the master thief Zom Ngerxungodan, leader of Damsto Ross, appeared. If all this was not worrying enough, they brought another five trolls with them.

The battle began in earnest outside the gates of Astebkol, lands which had already been bloodied by two previous sieges. Nearly half the dwarves of Astebkol died skirmishing with the goblins outside of the fortress. The skirmish appeared to have been worthwhile, though, as two groups of goblins and the master lasher retreated after being bloodied by them.

The real fighting happened in the sleeping quarters and in the main hallway. The bulk of the trained dwarves were stationed at the end of a long row of traps behind the main gates. The goblins quickly took the gate and stormed down the hallway, taking some casualties from the traps. A fierce battle ensued at the end of the hallway, and most of the dwarves were killed in the fighting. The dwarves managed to wipe out one group of goblins that attacked there and sent another into a hurried retreat. After that, the trolls emerged from a side passage. They had stormed through a more southern entrance, wreaking havoc throughout the fortress. They were wounded by traps by this point, and did not survive long in combat with battle hardened dwarven soldiers.

Another group of goblins invaded from an entrance near the sleeping quarters, where the many wounded were already being kept. The fortress guards and the captain of the guard (a sword master) were fortunately already in the area, and a bloody battle ensued. Many of the wounded were massacred in their beds before the fortress guards could defeat the goblins. In the end, only one dwarf remained of the ten brave fortress guards and their captain, a Hammer lord named Tekkud Kelonam.

Only twenty seven dwarves survived the battle, most of which were wounded to some degree, were imprisoned in the jail or were nobles hiding in the dining halls. Goblin, dwarf and dog bodies littered the barracks, entryway, workshops and bedrooms of the fortress. There were far too many bodies for the few remaining healthy dwarves to dispose, and as a result, the stench of rotting corpses filled the fortress.

Damsto Ross lost many of her warriors that day, and her leader was captured in the battle. However, with the dwarves so severely weakened, it was at best a Pyrrhic victory. Astebkol limps on with the aid of dwarven immigrants, but it will take years to return her to her former glory.

Oddom versus the Crocodile

Oddom Dodókònul was mining to the east of the cave river, searching for ore and gems. The farmland on the west side of the river was, at the time being, deserted, aside from a single stray cat. Suddenly, in the center of the southern farm, a cave crocodile sprung from ambush! More specifically, it was an injured cave crocodile. More specifically than that, an unconscious injured cave crocodile. I don't exactly understand how it sprung from ambush while unconscious, but apparently it had.

Though the crocodile was perfectly harmless in its current state, its appearance at the very least frightened Oddom enough to give him pause in his endeavors. So, Oddom was drafted into a one-man militia, and he bravely and expediently tackled the situation. He did not miss a step as he walked right past the crocodile and finished the beast with a single blow from his trusty pick. Then, with the (admittedly minimal) threat handled, Oddom once again returned to his work across the river.

Of course, he left the crocodile corpse for someone else to clean up.

Ingish Nailswords' Departure

A tale of a Dwarven Hero, who's birth was mired in the death of a fortress, much like a phoenix from the ashes, or a maggot from a corpse. Kontun was the name of the city destroyed, and Ingish Nailswords the Survivor.

Ingish Nailswords was a dwarf ordinary and stout seeming at first. A miner of great skill, he was eternally at the head of the pack to go deeper into the mountain, crossing the great underwater river, the first to cross the great chasm, that his pick might dig out the emeralds that laid across, and he only stopped at the river of lava for want of a bridge to cross. His skill in war became evident when, with great majestic skill, he did fight three Macaques that emerged from the wilderness, managed to hold off with others of his mining team the teeming Toadpeople from the river, and in single combat slay a crocodile. Yet, he was no legend among the people, he was an old and weathered relic from the Founding of Kontun.

Until the day the madness came.

It was a sweet day in summer, sticky wild with life and food. The mountain hall was at ease, the smiths laboring to produce fine new swords to sell to the short lived men that would come to the mountain. The Captain of the Guard relaxed in his opulent quarters, confident and fat, idly admiring his fine masterwrought axe. The tavern was busy this night, with many a dwarf ruddy nosed and pleasantly half cotton headed. But there was one in this idyllic scene who clashed; who's very heart beat an unwholesome tatoo. Thikut Patternabbey was his name, and thrice cursed the day he was born. He was a man of crafts, an original akin to Nailswords, but where Nailswords sought the permanence of mined rock, Thikut could see only the immortality in history. He was a crafter of bone at first, carving and shaping the subtle soft frames of flesh, but when he mastered that, he wanted only more. He built halls, he blew glass, he sought status, he farmed, he fished, he brewed, he did everything a dwarf could do, mastering each and wanting more.

Perhaps it was the envy of never getting the power that he wanted, that he would dare strike a bargain with the Fey.

A great work he did, aye, a fine and impressive work, requiring ingredients a plenty. But oh, what terrible ingredients.

Melbil Actedmetals was a fine dwarfess, stolid member of the community, in fact, the Representative of the Order of the Axe. How ironic that her child would be used to make the finest axe ever seen across the Mythical Lands of the Griffon.

Her laments and cries of rage filled the fortress when she discovered her only beloved child dead, upon the floor of the bone crafter's shop, torn open and gutted like a fish. The criminal was nowhere near at the time, his white and red bone axe, Muzishdeler, "Martyred Steel", clasped tight in his bloody hands.

Twin killers, sparked by the same sin, one filled with glee, the other righteous rage, fell upon the fortress that night. Martyred Steel sang death and bloody joy to the ears of the unsuspecting dwarves, painting the halls and decorations bloody red. Actedmetals was in a berserk frenzy, lashing out at all that came across her. Slaying the Fortressguard, despite grievous injury, her gasping, torn and bloodied body leaning in the hallway, only too late could she see her son's killer, in his hands the bones of her beloved Otez. Slain among the bodies of those that she had killed in her terrible misdirected anger, one can only imagine the terrible crushing grief she had, before joining her son in the Allfather's hands.

This entire time, Ingish had been alone, mining far, far, far down, in search of some new vein, some new challenge. He was unaware that the flames of chaos and war had consumed his beloved home.

All around, the blood madness sang in dwarven hearts, halls splattered crimson again and again, as their minds, weakened with fear, succumbed to Muzishdeler's call. The Philosopher, Lanno, while trying to bring order was strangled to death by Ilral the Broker. The Duke Ilral Bodicedomains held a heroic last stand in his quarters, armed with naught but his fists against the mob of farmers baying for his blood. The Captain of the Guards, while trying to flee his doom was set upon by rabid Macaques, their terrible claws and piercing teeth ripping the living flesh off of his bones.

Then, all was silent.

The dying bled their last, joining the dead, while the fey possessed Thikut gazed on with joy upon his deeds, and walked out of the fortress, a rivulet of blood following him, crimson footsteps left behind on the grass.

When Ingish came home to sleep, he paused at the doorway, the body of fair Melbil facing him, torn to pieces, a crude picture of an axe written in her blood. He paused considering the scene, and with heavy heart, closed her eyes and moved on to his quarters, where outside the dying House of Rash representative related the sorry tale. Ingish, again overcome, could do naught but pass on the fair fellow, stepping over the corpse of an unfortunate minor, and then got in his bed, and stared at the ceiling. Eventually, he fell to sleep, his world shattered.

The next day, Ingish made an attempt at burying and cleaning the dead, looking for survivors, but soon realized it was futile. The burning brand of that day on his soul, Ingish turned aside, and left the fortress, never to return, axe in hand vowing revenge, and hoping one day, to meet the thrice damned Thikut, and slay him with the very instrument that he had betrayed his kith and kin with.

Ingish still walks the world today, axe in hand, obsessively training and searching for the one that laid Kontun, "Master Door", to waste.

The Real Story

Okay, this all stemmed from my most successful game of Dwarf Fortress, in which I grew really awesome at producing crafts and selling them to humans for food (I never could get the hand of farming.). Anyway, Thikut was my awesome dwarf, the one that I obsessed over the most because he proved really good at everything he did. Ingish, I sorta got in my head was the retarded one, who would only be good at mining. To make a long story short, Thikut got possessed by fey, made a really awesome axe, (And randomly killed a dwarf while making it, no, it wasn't a bone axe, but a guy died somehow in the process), then my friggin' awesome warrior Order of the Axe Representative went nuts, along with Thikut, and the entire fortress fell into a bloody mess. I lost track of Thikut, he might have died, but Ingish was the only survivor. I found it really funny that Ingish just sorta stepped over everybody's corpses and went to sleep. I watched for a day out of fascination, but Ingish didn't really get affected all that much by the death of everyone else in the fortress. So, a little peeved, I abandoned the fortress and started up Adventure mode.

The same name pops up, of "Ingish Nailswords". A fluke of luck to be sure, unless Toady sneakily put in some REALLY cool code thing, but I played him and am having immense fun in imagining the backstory of Ingish. Who knows, I might run into a Thikut Patternabbey soon.

The Transmuted Greaves

One of my dwarfs was possessed and I watched him intently. The last few little fellows had either flung themselves into the river or stripped naked and starved to death.

He seizes my only Clothes Making shop, and sets to work gathering ingredients. I keep hoping that he won't hit a snag and sit in his shop pouting, but he diligently gathers materials. Oddly enough, he doesn't go for any rope reed cloth or silk thread, that stuff is for making pansy clothes. He goes for the big guns, gorilla leather, cat bones, and horse bones. Odd materials to be making simple clothes out of to be sure.

He begins his mysterious construction, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

A few days later he reveals his masterpiece- "Seizedgreeds the Ace Duty of Glazes" a Gold Greaves.

Wait, how did he forge golden armor out of leather and bone at a clothes makers shop? He didn't gain any legendary clothes making, leatherworking, bone carving, furnace operating, or armor crafting skill either, so I was fairly disappointed.

Luckily the greaves are worth 112,800, which is roughly 1/4 the net worth of my fortress.

Unfortunately the dwarf who made these greaves had since passed away in some unfortunate accident, and they are now being worn by my Expert Marksdwarf. Hopefully they offer some ungodly amount of protection.

Kerligmosus

I have never been able to write narrative. However, taking screenshots at the same time every year proved within my capabilities, so here is a Pictorial Chronology of Kerligmosus, "Shellrooms".

Chronology of Kerligmosus

The Strange Case of Oddom Ulingmosus

A dwarven caravan came to Vabokilral, "Orbtreaty", around the middle of the warm autumn that preceded the mild winter of our second year in the fortress. As such caravans are wont to, they brought with them bodyguards, three axedwarves. As one of these axedwarves, a certain Oddom Ulingmosus, came into view, so too did one of the many gorillas that roam our countryside. To shoo it from the caravan, Oddom made haste to attack it with his axe. He chased it a short distance before laying the finishing blow, at which time another gorilla came into view; Oddom hefted his axe and made chase again. Eventually the caravan crossed the river bridge and came to our trading depot, where they sold us several types of food (they drove too hard a bargain for us to relieve them of their dwarven cheeses). They left before winter came, and we went back to work. It was the next spring when one of our hunters, seeking gorilla meat for our legendary dining room, noticed the ground on the opposite side of the river was dotted with dead gorillas in various states of decomposition, and all bearing axe-marks. The cause was eventually discovered: Oddom Ulingmosus the caravan guard had been roaming the countryside all winter (thank the dwarven gods that we built in such a warm locale!) in a state of absolute madness, hacking into pieces any gorillas he saw, and it seems any leopards or jaguars when he had the time. He still roams the plains, axe in hand and insensate with strange rage. I fear he will not rest until he is dead or every gorilla on the plains has breathed its last. (Sidenote: This dwarf is now Unbelievably Tough from this, and I hope he automatically takes it upon himself to be my first line of defense if I'm ever attacked from the west, because I'm pretty sure he could singlehandedly defeat my entire military in battle.)

How the Ultra-Mighty Have Fallen

Id Smoothnessshot was as great a champion as the land had ever seen. Her prowess in battle was legendary. Her physique was flawless. She could dwarfhandle an entire herd of elephants unarmed. No foe had so much as winded the able Swordsdwarf for as long as anyone could remember.

It was thus on one moonless night that her mighty ego bested her. As a favor to the human mayor of Lakesvoiced, she had agreed to rid an ancient ruin of its evil ruler, Age Tomeslark. However, she set out for the dire campus too late in the day, and was annoyed to find her quarry obscured by nightfall. Rather than spend tedious hours combing the dewdamp earth for both her foes and the bejeweled trinkets that stirred their unbeating hearts, Id decided to disregard the low moans emanating from the unholy crypt and made camp instead.

Id's ability to sleep was as titan as her prowess in battle. Row after row of fleshless horrors descended upon the sleeping figure and rained blow after blow upon her until their bare bones threatened to unthread. One or two even managed to raise the faintest of welts upon the flesh they so deeply resented.

Id might have lived to tell the tale if not for the enterprise of one osseous apparition which placed a clammy grip upon her sword arm and wrenched the blade out of her fingers. Raising its prize above its head, the bloodthirsty being brought the traitorous blade down upon the bold dwarf's neck, banishing the champion to the mightiest sleep of all.

Batmen meet Wile E. Coyote

When I reached the chasm, I bridged it as usual. The batmen came, of course, and knocked a few hapless dwarves off of the bridge before I managed to widen it enough to keep the bungee-jumping to a minimum. After hearing tales of chaining guard dogs to keep them handy, I posted a few canine watchmen. The batmen continued attacking, of course, but now with an amusing twist: since the dogs were attacking the bats while the bats were still flying over the chasm, the bats would fall to their doom just a few seconds after being grasped by the dogs. Those poor, poor batmen.... did they learn nothing from Looney Tunes?

Yes, very serene

I had just started a new game. It was going pretty well, with my farm set up before the first summer and everything set up for the arrival of the first caravan. I had managed to make a few bone goods, hopefully to get a little more food out of the caravan.

The caravan arrives as expected, with only one snag : a herd of unicorns. The mules and traders all pass through without fail, but the bodyguards decide that they need to remove this "roadblock" and cheerfully tried to massacre the offending herd. Try being to operative term.

The caravan arrives at my trade depot, and start trading. Two bodyguards rejoin them, one having lost his life on the plains. One is wounded and the other didn't fight. Score for the other side : two dead unicorns.

While going to the trading list, a few objects appear. The equipment of the dead dwarf. I end up trading two pieces of it back for the contents of the whole caravan. The merchants seem to think that's a good deal.

Worse is : While going back, the only bodyguard not wounded decides that he needs to prove himself, and charges the herd. At odds of five against one. I don't need to tell you the result.

The worst aspect is that : I chose this place for being "serene".

The madness of the Legendary Mason

Sigun Shislikot claimed a mason's workshop, eventually creating the finest table in all dwarfdom. Some time later, he was struck with inspiration anew, and claimed the same shop. However, he was unable to procure the bones necessary for his creation, and eventually was driven mad.

He stormed into the dining hall and struck one of the soldiers seated at the main table. The soldier stood, threw Sigun into the chair opposite, and hacked his head off. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating the table and the floor. The soldier resumed his interrupted meal with his now headless table guest.

I got better!

Bomrek Morulokil was just emerging from his room one day after a long sleep, when a cave crocodile sprang from ambush. The surprised miner managed to put a pick through the crocodile's head, but not before losing his left lower leg to the beast's powerful jaws.

Anxious dwarves surrounded him. They carried him into his room and brought him water, and food, and eventually, Bomrek felt strong enough to stand again. He hopped out of his room and headed for the dining room. Another dwarf spotted him and dragged him back into his room, without a word. Bomrek demanded to know why he was being thrown in bed, but the dwarf simply muttered, "recover wounded" and left him.

Bomrek rose again, and hobbled out into the corridor. He had not gone ten feet when another dwarf saw him, and dragged him into a different room. Protesting loudly, Bomrek was thrown in bed.

Poor Bomrek has been unable to leave the dormitory area of the fortress without being dragged back to a bed to recover. No one believes him when he says that he is ok. He almost made it across the chasm bridge once, but an alert Fortress Guardsdwarf tackled him and threw him in the barracks.

(Probably a bug, but hilarious)

Team Animal Squad

It was a peaceful day in the history of the dwarven outpost of Bibanbim, the 7 occupants sleeping cozily in their wooden beds, dreams of success and fame in their heads.

Suddenly, out of the river, snakemen, 5 in all, rose out of the waters to feast upon these intruders. And feast they would, if they had not run into one problem.

Horses.

The horses, willing to save their dwarven owners, charged towards the snakemen, killing two and wounding one by trampling them with their terrible hooves, however, a horse went down, and the others started getting injuries as well. It seemed to be a stalemate.

Until the Doggie Brigade arrived.

The snakemen couldn't take it. One tried to limp away, in sheer agony, before seeing that adorable, fuzzy face sink its teeth into an arm. The snakeman screamed, and soon was no more.

The next morning, the dwarves woke up to quite a sight. There were 3 dead foals, a dead horse, a dead mule, 2 dead dogs and 2 dogs injured horribly. However, despite the losses, the dwarves worked together to haul the corpses and clean the blood before any terrible miasma could set in. Within moments, the fortress had returned to its normal, productive state.

The Stampede

Once upon a time (24 Opal, 1057, to be exact), in the not-so-great dwarven stronghold Nilaval, "Hammerloved", deep beneath the temperate mountains of Zilirushul Arkoth, there was a farmer named Vucar Rashbesmar. Vucar was not a very good farmer, but for some reason the cow, Unib Ostardoren, had adopted him as her keeper.

Unib was an ancient cow from a long line of noble and large cows. Indeed, she was one of the very pair who had spawned the entire Nilaval herd, now some 80 strong. Her sight was going and she gave little milk in her old age, but she was the matron of the herd, leading them around after her master, Vucar.

Now, on this mid-winter day, there was little farming to be done. All of the tallow was processed and stored in the strong and great dwarven barrels for the great winter, and all of the drink was brewed as well. So Vucar had decided to lend a hand to the miners as they opened an exploratory passage across the rift, in search of the great magma flow or even a coal vein, since lumber was getting scarce. Of course, Unib led her herd after him, much to the dismay of the miners as they squeezed past the cattle in the tiny passage and stepped in the leavings. There was much muttering and moaning, but the miners kept their peace for the most part.

Then suddenly from the rift sprang a terrible and vicious group of ant men! The fiends cut down several miners where they stood, and proceeded down the passageway towards Vucar, slaughtering several more of his helpless friends.

Vucar ran as fast as his stumpy dwarven legs could carry him, Unib and the herd on his tail. But it was useless! The dwarves, seeing the onslaught of ant-men coming towards the stronghold, had closed the great stone gates! He was trapped. He fell to his knees and quivered in fear as the ant men crossed the bridge, their legs clicking on the unworked stone floor, death in their eyes.

But Unib was not so cowardly. Her long life, dealing with cougars and groundhogs, had left her in a better position to deal with the threat than poor Vucar. With a mighty bellow, she head-butted the lead ant-man so hard that his head popped off and flew backwards into the chasm behind him, spraying blood and icor all about. Taking a cue from their matron, the rest of the herd charged into the fray amidst a chorus of mighty bellows, stamping upon the ant-men with their mighty hooves and goring them with their mighty horns.

The battle was short. In all, 13 ant-men fell, and not a single cow was killed. The city gates were reopened, and Vucar and Unib returned to their kin, victorious, the only survivors.

A dark day

There was once a fortress called Urdimidok or Towerpoints some call it. This fortress lived through 2 years with only a minor food and lack of well problems. Everything was peaceful for the 65 dwarves that inhabited the fortress. The tunnels were dug deep. All the way to the magma river.

Then on the 27 Hematite of Early summer in the second year of its founding, Urdimidok had a dark day. In that one day 4 waves of attacks came. Each from a different source. A fire imp came through the magma river burning the metalsmiths as they ran for saftey. A troll popped out of the chasm and began pounding everything in its way. A troglyte crawled from the wells and began terrorizing the dwarves near by and the Lizardmen came in a wave of 4 from the river stalking my farms.

The fire imp was dispatched quickly by a near by sqaud but still burnt 2 from the squad of 5 dwarves. The troglyte was put down by some near by wardogs. At the price of one of the wardogs. The troll was not easily put down. It stormed through the main hall killing a squad leader towards the entrance where the human caravan was trading. With the human swordsmen help the troll was killed. The lizardmen how ever killed the sherif before being defeated.

The dwarves lost some good dwarves this day. Indeed it was when the day ended. Just as the dwaves put the last corpse away some naked mole dogs sprang from an ambush killing three more dwarves before being killed by some wardogs.

This is a bad day for the dwarves of Urdimidok.

Genius Does Not Float

On a sad day for the Dwarven people of Angsturstrasp Sagus, the Plane of Dawning, a lone metalsmith was taken with the legendary mood of the fey. He cloistered himself away in the forge, the only workshop yet built on the east side of the river. But the metalsmith's fey mood was for naught-his brother dwarves, having already witnessed a metalsmith wither and die from being unable to find the ore he sought, watched him carefully. When none of the ores presented to him passed inspection, the dwarves knew what had to be done.

The mechanic personally pulled the lever connected to the newly-installed "Instant Removal of Threat from Chasm Invasion System." The stone floodgates opened, and the underground river poured forth, flooding everything east of the river and finally pouring into the chasm. The fey metalsmith died in the heights of his fey mood, spared a long death of suffering. Alongside him was the dwarf responsible for naming the stronghold's various defensive systems-an empty-casket funeral, as he mysteriously fell down the chasm with a mysterious bootprint on his back. (Explanation: I had just rigged a system to flood any invasion from the chasm, and so when my metalsmith went into a fey mood and I couldn't provide the ore, I pulled the lever, drowning the fey metalsmith and nothing else. Sad, yes, but a better death than letting him berserk or starve himself.

Ruspmon, "The Eternal Plane"

All the stories of Ruspmon are listed here.

The Foul Masterpiece

Likot Logemnokzam was an adept foodsmith who toiled long hours over the stove producing many a pleasing meal for his fellow dwarves. Unfortunately, Likot's talents went unappreciated; the little philistines would usually pass over his creations for a shriveled bit of stale mushroom or a slab of raw horse meat.

One afternoon, Likot was in an inspired mood. "If it's plump helmets they want, it's plump helmets they'll get!" He proceeded to mince the little purple caps with an expert hand, bringing out a host of subtle flavors previously undiscovered. Baking them ever so delicately, Likot turned out a small batch of exquisite biscuits and loudly announced his deed to the fortress.

His pride fell on deaf ears. Even the fort's many stewards ignored his accomplishment, and the biscuits sat in the kitchen aside many other meals which were already moldering.

The fortress keeper foresaw trouble. If this masterpiece were permitted to rot, Likot would grow enraged and throw a violent fit right in the busiest part of the fortress. The keeper doubled the number of stewards, hoping the biscuits would be transferred to the pantry, suitably preserved for later consumption. But steward after steward ignored the biscuits, inexplicably reasoning that the fort's scattered seed stock was the highest priority. Even Likot was seduced by this reasoning, strolling off to gather a seed instead of packing up the biscuits.

The mold on the other meals flourished. Surely at any instant, the prize biscuits would follow suit. And while dwarves had a great appreciation for lush beards, they did not seem to appreciate the green beard that had graced many a neglected dish of Likot's.

In desperation, the fortress keeper ordered the kitchen dismantled. There was a small chance the commotion would attract the stewards' attention to the kitchen again. Likot answered the call, and set to breaking down the workshop.

Lo and behold, the day was saved! As the kitchen's contents were removed, the biscuits were absent-mindedly placed in an adjacent pantry. The threat of mold was stemmed, and Likot was still able to hold out hope that some day a ravenous dwarf would come across his creation and experience fungal nirvana.

To this day, the biscuits remain untouched.

The Lucky Trapper

Reg Rakustunib was never a popular dwarf. All of her peers at dwarf trapper school made fun of her for her name in the human tongue: "Tombpages." As such, she spent most of her time with the dogs, practicing her animal care. Her crossbow went neglected.

One day, she hears rumours the the three-year-old fortress "Spikespaddle" had an overpopulation of stray dogs. Seeing a chance to restart her life, she sets out with a bunch of other migrants the next spring. Disappointment awaited her. There were only seven dogs there, all of them trained and assigned to the local military. She felt neglected. Nobody wanted to give her some work. All the other dwarves thought her a mere nuisance. Finally, fed up with her pesterings, the legendary miner Kib Enshalgusil tells her to go hunting, fully aware that the large herds of elephants have been known to kill.

Reg, of course, knew nothing of elephants, and she evidently had not seen the bas-reliefs in the dining room depicting the death of a metalsmith the year of the fortress' founding. She never even visited the graveyard to visit the poor smith's coffin.

Desperately wanting to gain acceptance in her new home, she picked up her unused crossbow and journeyed into the bright spring morn. She wandered about for days, baffled as to the absence of any game. Then, one fateful day she abruptly found herself standing a stone's throw away from a herd of mighty elephants.

"How did I not notice them?" she said. The thoughts soon dissipated as she saw her opportunity for fame and fortune. She lifted her unwieldy weapon, and for the first time in her life, fired a crossbow bolt.

The gods were with her that day! The fateful bolt sped true, striking an elephant in the chest, mangling both its lungs and its heart. The beast fell with a great trumpeting and slumped a few feet before life departed it. The other elephants, seeing their come-uppance in this ugly little dwarf, fled their assailer.

Reg, burning with awe and pride, forgot to return her kill. She thought she had a magic crossbow. Seeking to test her theory, she chased after the retreating elephants, but poor Reg, her luck abandoned her, and her next bolt merely angered a great beast, who then unceremoniously crushed her leg.

But by that time, a farmer had already retrieved the dead elephant and had pieced together the series of events. The news spread quickly. When Reg did not return to dine from her kill, Kib, the miner who sent her out in the first place, departed to seek her out. He found her crawling about, still trying to make another kill. He gently picked her up and returned her to the barracks. She lay there to this day, recovering and enjoying praise from her new friends, for in her they found the vengeance that, for all their toils, were unable to get for the fallen metalsmith.

Last Stand of the Ratmen of Akrulbudam

It was the year 1065, the dwarves of Akrulbudam had been at war with the ratmen for over 10 years now. Much blood had been spilled on either sides, tragedies were the most common sight in the kingdom. Many a great swordsman and marksdwarf had succumbed to their might, and fallen into the abyss, never to be seen again. It was time to end the war, preparations had been made, but it was never fully decided whether or not to continue looting from the dead ratmen, as a source of trade, or extinguish their race for ever and begin an era of prosperity and peace. The last lever was built, and linked to. Only one task remained before the lever were to be pulled and engulf the ratmen in the flames of wrath ; removing the floodgate which had kept the ratmen at bay and stopped them from a northern invasion which would have endangered the metalsmithing dwarves of the north east. But the dwarves realized a better solution would be to simply mine around it, creating more space for the lava to flood through and hastening the defeat of their foes. Several miners went in through the tunnel which soon would never be tread upon again, and dug out areas, breaching the walls that had stop the ratmen for so many years. Time was of the essence, if they did not hurry, ratmen would take their opportunity, spring from the chasm and continue their pillaging. Several walls of rock were knocked down, but more will still to be removed if they wanted the ratmen gone quickly. As Alath, Monom and Dumat walked towards the mining locations, about to finish the job, what they had feared would happen, happened. Six ratmen, lead by a named ratmen Ounl, jumped out and attacked Alath, surrounding him quickly. Monom and dumat were still some distance from him, and seeing his arms and limbs ripped from him, they fled, as any dwarf would have. Two of the ratmen stayed to feast, while the bulk of them chased the eye witnesses who would report their discoveries. Remembering that the lever was working, Monom quickened his speed through the long narrow tunnel, already deciding the fate of 2 dwarves was a lesser evil compared to the lives of all the dwarves that could be spared if he did this one dark deed... Monom took the right exit out of the tunnel, for staying left would have only been a dead end at the floodgates to the magma flow, which soon would be opened anyway - a very unpleasant location to be at for the time. Dumat, sensing what Monom had planned, also began to run faster, trying to get out before it was too late, but Ounl and his rats were close on dwarves. Monom made it out and ran right around the corner, where the lever had been conveniently placed. Dumat was still far away when Monom reached the lever, and had not made much progress once it had been pulled. Dumat recognized the sounds of the gears moving, of what it meant, that a floodgate was opening, and he knew exactly which one based on how close it was. His heart racing, he made it out of the cave, turned around and tightly closed the now forbidden door that the ratmen were about to enter. Not a moment too soon either, for the lava had been making its way, at a surprising rate, towards the hallway. Despite his vicious clawing and pounding, Ounl could not break down the large stone door that had sealed his fate. The magma rushed through the hall, and as Ounl stared at his fate while his comrades fled, he realized the pointlessness to all the war he had waged on the dwarves, accepted his fate, and let the magma engulf him in a firey unforgiving wave of retribution. The magma continued, devouring the remaining ratmen, and ending Alath's missery before the ratmen could eat more of him. It was the beginning of the end for the ratmen. They would no doubt continue to attack the dwarves from the exit at the bridges, but soon their home would be no more, their holes, filled with molten rock, and their race would be gone for ever...

Fortress Paintrag

The founder's log of Fortress Paintrag.

The Colossus of Otambomruk "Nosewhip"

A masterpiece of a bronze statue stands watch over the twin bridges of the mighty frozen river. It is a herald of our might. Those who cross these bridges know that they will face the warriors of Otambomruk, and their fate is heralded by this monument to our vengeance. This statue was not always immobile. Once, it was a living creature, a bronze Colossus that went by the terribly pleasant sounding name Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca.

It was Autumn of 1058 when Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca entered our valley. At first, all was well and quiet. The beautiful beast was a marvel: twenty feet tall and with the face of a king. It's metal gleamed so bright in the faint sun of our wintry home that we were blinded. We thought it a friend. It was not to be so.

A simple fox disturbed the fiend's gentle repose. It bounced across his lap, and Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca took great offense. It was here that the monster's true character was revealed. For we have learned that precious metal a good heart does not make. Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca took alight and charged the fox, chasing it back and forth across the valley. Loki bless its soul, the fox was too quick for the monster, and was never caught.

But the sight of the metallic monstrosity striding across our land was too much for our excitable war dogs to ignore. Two charged it. We heard the colossus chuckle, and then howl, as one of the dogs tore out his right eye with teeth that surely were adamantite. Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca erupted into a furious rage. He smashed one dog into the ground, and severely wounded the other.

The wounded dog began a pathetic escape to our fortress door. Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca never slowed in pursuit. When the gate was reached, several of our Royal Guard were napping outside (as is their habit). Eventually roused from their slumber by the earth shaking steps of the colossus, they attacked, barehanded but with dwarven spirit. Their wrestling talents would not bring this monster to bay, and they were quickly dispatched.

Now Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca was truly upset. He began to pound at our doors. We assembled all of our military. We drafted all carpenters who knew their way around an axe, and all miners handy with a pick.

We fought.

The Colossus broke through. Many brave recruits, eager to prove themselves, exploded in fury at its feet. They lived short but legendary lives. Our Marksdwarves took up strategic positions and fired bolt after bolt into the creature. Our well-trained Swordsdwarves, veterans of a goblin invasion and killers of many wolf packs, moved in.

The battle was long, and our casualties were heavy. We lost thirteen dwarves and thirteen dogs. Indeed ill numbers and perhaps an ill omen. But in the end, Nepema Omiceledo Relemeraca fell. He fell to our swords and arrows and axes. He fell to our hearts. For we stood together, and fell together, while he lived and died alone. We go on. But he will forever only be a monument, a warning to those who would seek to face the might of Otambomruk.

If you cross that river, and pass that statue, twenty feet high and now lifeless, you will face the same fate.

A Carpenters Dream

One day in Slinglabored, a god forsaken treeless, plantless, freezing and terrifying land of ice wolves and polar bears, Zas Onulaval was training at the archery range. He quickly became bored and left to go drink from the well.

The water was bitter, having been affected by the miasma of a recently killed ice wolf left on the ground unattended. Zas stopped drinking it soon, fearing what might happen. "You don't like it either, eh?" said a familiar voice from behind him. Reg Tiristes patted Zas on the back, "Don't worry, they say soon we'll be making barrels again, and you know what means! More booze!" Zas managed to crack a smile at his old friend's drunken nature, for Zas was never much of a drinker.

Things hadn't been going well for Zas recently, the wolves had been getting more aggresive, and had killed dozens of unfortunate dwarves that wandered into the cold. Being one of the old 3 trained marksdwarves, alot of pressure was put on him to defend the hundred odd dwarves remaining. Food stocks had also been running low, causing a small panic that might lead to a riot, a riot Zas might have to put down most likely alone being so understaffed.

But he always had Reg at his side, his only friend from that hole in the wall they called home.

"Zas i've been thinking about this amazing idea, i've been dreaming about it for nights now, i think i'm going to propose it to the Manager and see if he accepts today!" Reg said suddenly, almost hysterically. "Thats great! Whats your idea?". "Its really hard to explain, but i know exactly what i need, and ill show you when im finished, it will rock your world, i know it will!"

Zas waited outside the managers office, until Reg walked out, looking gloomy, and depressed. "What did he say?" Zas inquired, already knowing the answer. "That idiot, he has no artistic appreciation! He wouldn't accept my plan!" Reg growled.

Reg stomped off, cursing in dwarven tongue. Zas, curious, walked into the office and asked the manager why he wouldn't accept his friends idea.

"His demands for the project were outrageous. Didn't he even tell you?" Manager Fath Kolbiban snapped. "Well, no, actually, he didn't, he said it was a surprise." "Yes, it definitely would be quite a surprise to use the ONLY remaining wood in this town for such a ridiculous cause, as well as our ONLY steel which has taken us 3 years to make!!" Kolbiban yelled.

Zas left the office, realizing the manager was right this time and Reg wasn't being realistic. In fact, he wasn't being himself at all lately...as though he was posessed by someone else's desires..

He only barely noticed the large crowd outside the workshop department which managed to interupt his thoughts. A large ruccus had started, "Did you hear?" said one gossiping dwarf. "Yes! Reg's gone mad! He's taken over the carpenters shop and he's stealing our rarest supplies for some project hes been rambling about lately."

Zas was alarmed, this wasn't like Reg at all. He pushed through the crowds to the door and into the workshop. There, he saw something he never dreamed would happen.

Reg was holding an iron battle axe; guarding the steel bars and treecap wood he had stolen. The Colonel, an axedwarf, and another marksdwarf stood patiently by, waiting for Regs next move.

"Zas!! Your here! Thank Armok. You need to help me finish my project before these fools ruin it!!" Reg blithered excitedly, almost in a different voice.

"Reg, put the axe down, you know i can't let you do that, i'm a soldier.." Zas said with sympathy for his clearly crazed friend.

"But Zas!! Your my friend! I just need a few more gems and it will be finished! Please Zas, please!!" Reg said, tightening the grip on his iron battle axe, sweat steaming off of his forehead.

Reg raised his crossbow relucantly, as the other marksdwarves had. "Reg...please...put the axe down...lets talk about this...I don't want to hurt you." Zas pleaded.

"You...your not going to help me... I see... I see how it is.. No one here believes in me anymore... I've heard the dwarves whispering, i've heard their mockery. But Zas i never thought you of all dwarves would turn your back on me. You leave me no choice Zas. I have to do what Gorthon commands me to... I HAVE TO!!!", and with that, Reg charged Zas with his axe in hand, raised above him.

A flurry of bolts flew at Reg, as though his step toward Zas triggered a response to the marksdwarves.

Reg dropped his axe, blood covered the ground and walls; 4 iron bolts pierced his chest and arms. He fell to his knees, and looked up at Zas. "Z..." he said, raising his blood and sweat soaked hand towards Zas.

Zas lowered his crossbow, and tears raced down his cheek, into his beard, drenching it. Dwarves weren't supposed to show emotion, especially not military dwarves. There was no room for emotion in such an unforgiving place.

He made his way to the archery range, and went back to practicing his shot...

The War of Hoof and Horn

Zonosor, or “Helmkingdoms,” was founded in 1052 by Dwarves of Esesthan. These Dwarves were not the most adventurous type, and chose a mild-weathered forested region that was positively serene. A herd of Unicorns even nuzzled them as they crossed the river. Thanking the gods for guidance, the Dwarves began digging into the mountain and bringing industry to the region. Workshops were built, tunnels dug, and entire forests felled to feed the fires of the great furnaces and smelters. The serenity of the outside was soon forgotten.

This remained the state of affairs for three years. In that time, little attention had been paid to the surface, other than where more trees could be obtained. True, a rather zealous greenhorn Trapper had been killed after attempt to tackle a Unicorn, but such was the life of a trapper. The Dwarves much preferred their Plump Helmets to meat, anyway.

Peace at Zonosor was shattered on the 13th of Timber, 1055. On that day, Alath Sikelreg, Crafter of Beds and Feller of Trees, was struck down by a Unicorn. Alath had done nothing to endanger the Unicorn, and at first the attack was hardly to be believed. Accusations were leveled at the great Alligator who remained at large. But no, reported a solemn Overseer, the culprit was undeniably a Unicorn.

Many a beard was torn at the death of Alath, and oaths of vengeance sworn. The militia, consisted of three Swordsdwarfs and a Marksdwarf, crossed the stone bridge to defend the lumberfields. Within hours they were bloodied. Morul Oburkilrud, a most melancholy Marksdwarf, was ambushed and slain almost immediately. Nevertheless, on the 15th, Unicorns were routed from the Lumberfields by the Swordsdwarfs. Congratulating themselves on their victory, the soldiers turned for home.

But lo! The treacherous Unicorns, led by the great steed Bonunzokun, had circled around the Dwarven rear, cutting off the Militia from the bridge! Knowing that it was do or die, the brave Swordsdwarfs once again charged the Unicorns, breaking through to the safety of Zonosor. For some days the Dwarves remained in doors, but presently the herd moved off to the west.

On the 5th of Obsidian, they returned. Bonunzokun revealed his skills as a tactician, sending in a young colt to jam the traps placed at the entrance to Zonosor. Leaping over the filleted corpse of their comrade, four Unicorns wreaked havoc in the forward chambers. Dumont Limulsteok, a Peasant, was “grounded into a fine Dwarven paste,” in the words of one witness. Half a dozen more were grievously wounded; several would die in later months. Likot Onulrun, Swordsdwarf and veteran of the Timber Campaign, was the first soldier to respond. His punctuality was rewarded with a horn to the heart, but his charge was credited with turning back the Unicorns. Unfortunately, the drawbridge across the river was raised in the confusion, causing young Datun Sodelonol to disappear into the rushing torrent.

But the Unicorns were also confused; three, including Bonunzokun, fled into the Old Quarters, where Dwarves had lived before the crossing of the river. The quick-thinking Dwarfs immediately slammed shut the doors, trapping the three beasts. Ironically, the one Unicorn who made the right turn was subsequently butchered by the entrance-traps.

Following the burial of their dead, the Overseer brought together a Court of Justice. He charged Bonunzokun and his herd with war crimes, including: Crimes against Dwarfdom, Impediment of Industry, and Waging a War of Bestial Aggression. In a terrible voice, the Overseer pronounced the sentence against the Unicorns (who, due to being locked in the kitchens, were tried in absentia): Death by Drowning.

Quietly, the Dwarves went to work. Walls were knocked out, doors removed, and anything of value carried away. Bonunzokun and his accomplices remained oblivious. At last, on the 19th of Obsidian, Sheriff Sigun Melbiliden walked down the short corridor, spat on the door and pulled the lever. The floodgates to the auxiliary farms opened, releasing a torrent of water that submerged the old dining hall, barracks, and kitchen, where the Unicorns remained. For all their strength, the beasts proved poor swimmers and quickly succumbed.

With their Great Steed dead, the Unicorns were ill-equipped to resist the persecution carried out by Dwarven trappers and the human mercenaries who arrived with every caravan. By the autumn of 1056, only a handful of the creatures remained.

The Mystery of Stabrack

My name is Greco Sodelunib Shinnotlith Matul, slayer of giants and the undead scourge. My companions include: Stodir of the Axe, the hunters Id and "Eagle Eyes", and Kol of the Spear

My party of five has been in search of the legendary fortress of "Stabrack" for weeks now, and I have taken it upon myself to begin a journal of our adventure. As I write this, the marksdwarf 'Eagle Eyes' cries like a babe as the others attempt to set the broken bones in his arm and leg. The bones will heal. His lost eye, however, will not return. Earlier in the day we were ambushed by a large pack of starving wolves; Eagle Eyes was the only one to sustain injuries.

We were ambushed by another group of wolves yesterday and quickly disposed of them, but as we feasted on roasted meat last night, 'Eagle Eye' quietly walked off into the woods and drowned himself in the nearby lake. We weren't suprised when we found him; he had been very depressed since the loss of his eye. We took his armor and his finely crafty crossbow and left him on the shore. He won't be needing any of it. I've been wanting a new pair of boots for a long while.

At long last! Stabrack! For six years this place was an unending source of magnificent jewelry and trinkets. Then all contact stopped. There are no records of there ever being a war on Stabrack, or any sort of significant tragedy within its halls. Its inhabitants were peaceful toy-makers and jewelcrafters - doubtful if they had any trained militia at all. The snow-covered road leading toward the mountain is lined with stone blocks and simple granite statues. The entrance to the fortress has three iron doors with golden statues that welcome us with open arms. The doors are locked, however.

West of this grand welcome, Kol found a second narrow entrance into the mountain. The mountain's shelter from the blistering cold winter is a welcome respite. As we cautiously followed the winding corridor, we noticed various disabled traps and cages filled with animal bones.

We've emerged from the secret passageway into what must be the main hall. The iron doors are behind us and the ornately engraved walls stretch on into the darkness. The air is much warmer now. I believe my toes have begun to thaw.

We've turned off the main hall into a narrow corridor with rows of small rooms on either side. Some of them have superior oaken beds, others are simply bare. Still others are locked behind stone doors.

Screams in the halls! Stodir went off to explore by himself and has not been seen for some time, we heard the clash of battle and screams of pain echo down the halls a short while ago.

Troglodytes! We've encounted a tribe of the creatures in a large barracks near the dormitory. Brave Stodir is alive and was holding them off by bracing the doorway with his shield and hacking off limbs when they got too close. I found a second entry to the barracks and attacked the creatures from behind while Kol and Id held off their escape.

The barracks is ours. As we surveyed the carnage, I noticed several old bones scattered about the room. The trogs must have been living here for a long time - perhaps the Stabrack people kept them as pets? Though the room is large, the place must have been severely understaffed, there are few beds. the weapon racks are bare, and the few pieces of equipment scattered about are of inferior quality copper and bronze. Anything of value must have already been looted by the troglodytes or worse.

I found a dwarf skull on a bunk. Those old bones did not belong to the trogs. As we move deeper into the dormitory there are ashes and various tattered articles of clothing on the floor.

More old bones.

We seem to have come to the end of the dormitory, and stand in front of a locked door. The sound of rushing water calls behind it. I bashed open the door, and am amazed to see a massive open cavern across the river, unfortunately, there's no way to cross the rushing torrent of water - the bridge is missing.

Kol thinks we should head back to the main hall and try to cross the river from there.

We've found the bridge. And a corpse. A human corpse. It's horribly charred, but there's still flesh on the bones. Not far from the body is a barrel full of toys and gems. He must have been a treasure hunter come to steal dwarven wealth for his own. He's alone though.

There is a great clamor echoing from the deeper halls. It is growing louder; something is coming. The four of us stand ready on the bridge.

Rats! And big ones too! There are so many they fill the hall - it's like a great flood! With a good mace, I could destroy thousands of these vermin, but I've got better!

The river has turned red from their blood and the boys are beginning to tire. Trogs have begun to come in waves along with the rats. The air is getting much warmer now.

They keep coming! Stodir has fallen off the bridge and continues to hack the vermin from the water, while bravely fighting the current.

By the Gods! As I write this, I stand waist high in smouldering rat gore. A massive ball of fire flew up the hall and exploded in the midst of the rat swarm killing most of them instantly.

I think I understand now. They were trying to escape. I think we should start running too, but Kol and the others think we should continue. They've already crossed the bridge and begun moving toward the source of the fireball.

Beyond the light of our torches, in the darkness of the grand hall I can make out a small flickering flame. I can feel its heat already.

Fire! There was a loud cracking sound and the distant flame grew brighter. Then it grew larger. My companions stood no chance at all. Before they could run, another fireball flew into their midst and exploded. I did not stay to see any more. All I heard was Id's cries for help as his flesh melted away.

The smell was terrible.

I've run back to the dormitory and locked myself in a small room. I think I'll stay here until the fire is gone.

There's a skeleton in here, the poor fellow must have died in his sleep. It's been quite some time and I've grown thirsty. My water skin is empty. I attempted to sneak out of my room, but the second I stuck my head out the door, a wave of fire flashed down the corridor. I ducked behind my shield, shut the door, and hid under the bed. I won't be so lucky next time.

This heat is unbearable! And not only am I thirsty, I'm starving! Some roast rat sounds delicous right now, but I can't risk leaving the room.

It's been a few days now and I've been sucking worms from cracks in the floor. So thirsty...

The fellow I've been sharing a room with says he was king. Says he had a crown and a scepter and everything. What a nut.

So the King told me a great one today: A human, a dwarf, and a goblin sit down to eat. The human asks the table-wench to get him some wine. The dwarf yells for some ale. The goblin yells for some children!

I think I'll find some ale today. Nice knowing you, King.

A Love Story

Urist: "Oh my dearest Cerol, how do I love thee!"

Cerol: "And I thee, lovely Urist! Let us hie to the lovely bridge and make love as the water rushes underneath us as summer begins!"

Urist: "Let's!"

Later:

Cerol Gosterbim, Miner cancels Sleep: Dangerous terrain.

Cerol: "Urist, darling, does it sound like the water is louder? Urist? My dear? Urist! HELP! *GLUB*"

Urist: "Zzzzzzzzz"

Cerol Gosterbim, Miner has drowned.

Urist: "Cerol, my love? Cerol? Do not tease me! Where are you?"

Eribbim: Elephant problems, eh? Well we've got gorillas!

Read the long story of the human-copying, gorilla infested fortress of Eribbim!

This extensive story is only on the archives of the old wiki.

The Legend of Goringish

It was spring. The dwarven fortress Slingoceans was planting the fields with the required crops to make enough food to survive. Operation Caravan, the construction of a road to get a human caravan, had started. The legendary metalsmith Vabok Limaredem, creator of the copper flask Onshentenur (dwarf for Chantedstyles), Slingoceans’s first artifact, was working down at the magma forges. The fortress was in full swing to get goods to the trading depot, for the elves had arrived at the fortress for the first time. However, an event that would strike the fortress forever, and would nearly end it, was about to occur.

On the other side of the outdoor river, the fisherdwarves were hauling their catch of the day to the food stockpiles. A carpenter was getting wood when a tiger showed up, scaring away the fisherdwarves and carpenter. One of the trappers, realizing what was going on, attempted to slay the tiger, but it was too strong, and he fell. At that moment, the tiger now had a name; Goringish.

Now wishing to consume dwarves, Goringish chased the fisherdwarves and carpenters down to the south. At that point, Operation Caravan was being constructed. Goringish disrupted the road work on the west side of the river and then crossed the bridge into the east, near the fortress itself.

At this time, the fortress was on red alert, and the Thrones of Wheeling, the recruit squad, was sent out to kill the threat. If Goringish wasn’t stopped, he could kill several dwarves, ruin Operation Caravan, or even enter the fortress itself. If that happened, the entire base would have to be militarized, possibly ruining the harvest. If Goringish managed to take down the axedwarves, the base would lose its few seasoned fighters. The Thrones of Wheeling managed to get Goringish to retreat to the north, but then he went back down, directly toward the fortress entrance, chasing an injured recruit.

The recruit, realizing that it would be better to die fighting than a coward, jumped in and attacked Goringish. Goringish, in an attempt to kill the recruit, ripped off the recruit’s upper legs and right foot. However, the recruit still managed to deal terminal damage before he fell unconscious, and Goringish soon bled to death.

Soon, the fortress life returned to normal. The remaining trappers were turned into a marksdwarf squad dedicated to stopping a repeat of the event, and road work was completed. The trappers were given beds (a rarity in Slingoceans), a supply of bone bolts, and even had the legendary engraver come and engrave the entire room, making a few masterpieces. Goringish’s corpse was thrown into the refuse pile without any delay. The dwarves still had a moment of silence, for a tiger that strong deserved a warrior’s respect.

Operation Caravan had nearly been canceled, but they trudged on, and the human wagons arrived at the fortress. Later, it would become abundantly clear that the dwarves would need to trade with the caravan to survive, for the dwarves no longer could make enough food to outpace food consumption.

Sadly, the recruit eventually died of thirst, never being able to regain consciousness. Due to the lack of a graveyard, the corpse soon rotted, but the only dwarves in the miasma were sleeping. So the dwarves built a graveyard outside to stop the miasma.

The marksdwarf squad stayed the same for about half a year, slaying kobolds, goblins, and anything that might have been a threat. Eventually, two of the marksdwarves were killed by a berzerking mason, leaving only the leader alive. They got two replacements though, and the squad lived on. -Written by Bingbing

Strike of the Batmen

It had been several years since the Goringish incident had occurred, and Slingoceans had mostly forgotten it had happened. The dwarves had, after the first siege, decided to dig out a magma world flooding doomsday device to protect themselves against the goblin hordes. An economy had been created. The Marksdwarf Squad fired bone bolts at the firing range in their barracks. However, a lone mason, trying to build the rock aqueduct that would allow the magma to span the chasm, was about to be thrust into the middle of a big battle.

Deep within the darkest reaches of the aforementioned chasm, a race of evil batmen decided to attack. You see, the dwarves were flooding the chasm with magma, and the batmen didn’t want to have their home filled up. So they attacked and charged the poor mason.

The first fight occurred between the batmen and the mason himself. Although the mason managed to fend 5 of them off for a time, he eventually was overwhelmed and killed. At the time, the Marksdwarves were off eating a meal; but they got orders to head right to the source of the problem.

Not like it mattered; a huge swarm of batmen blowgunners were coming toward the farms, chasing poor citizens who were merely trying to put away or get food. Just before they reached the door, a group of marksdwarves positioned themselves and opened fire on the beasts. Despite being outfitted with bone bolts, the horrors were incapable of withstanding the onslaught. Then, the true fight began just after the marksdwarves had gotten ready.

More than two dozen batmen blowgunners flew out of the chasm, and the battle was on. Despite being few, the ten marksdwarves managed to hold the tide, even when seven of them got thirsty. A small squad of recruits and swordsdwarves had been stationed as well, but the batmen eventually ceased coming. At this point, a miner came to start working, but a new wave arrived and the area was coated with batmen blood once the army had finished. Eventually, they had a mason who was once possessed and ended up making the most valuable artifact in the history of the fortress finish the aqueduct.

Of course, a poor miner had to sacrifice himself in order to get the magma moving, and the dwarves felt sorry for his loss. The magma continued to pour into the chasm, and although the batmen tried striking near the Noble Killer; their best ballista (used to kill leaders), they were stemmed by three marksdwarves.

The chasm was doomed; nothing could survive the incredible heat. One last batman blowgunner escaped from the chasm’s depths before the magma forever more covered it in liquid rock. It charged out, fangs out; ready to devour the farmer near him. The farmer simply punched to death, and thus the batmen had become extinct; never again to attack the dwarves at Slingoceans. -Written by Bingbing

Rodents of Unusual Size

The inhabitants of Deathpainted now tremble in fear at the thought of giant chasm rats. The first few to show their ragged hides were easily dispatched by the war dogs set to guard either end of the chasm bridge. But then a truly bloodthirsty beast of a rat crawled from the depths, easily dispatched the dogs, and eventually disappeared back into the chasm. Thinking the creature to have fallen to its death, work went on as usual. Several months later, another rat appeared, and proceeded to wreak havoc upon all who crossed its path. Its first victim was a poor foal, who never stood a chance. Then a passing fisherdwarf. Then a dog. Then a puppy. And after all this carnage, the fiend was barely even bruised...only tired from its murderous exertions. Eventually it too disappeared into the chasm, but not before seperating a poor peasant from ALL her lower limbs. Packs of dogs and marksdwarves are now permanently stationed at either end of the bridge.

(As a side note, the poor peasant who got shredded "absolutely detests rats". Apparently, the rat took it personally.)

The Quiet Skill of Mefol Melbilnin

It was the first winter in a young outpost of the dwarven kingdom known as Murakanib. Everyone had sacked down easily enough, and thanks to buscuits made of boiled-down dwarven wine, would easily survive the winter, albeit with taste buds woefully damaged from monotony and the taste of boiled-down dwarven wine (which as anyone will tell you is not pleasant without something else to accompany it).

It came near to spring when suddenly, a mason started to withdraw from the feeling of family that had sprung up in the place. He promptly kicked out another mason (a migrant from the autumn) and started working with rough boulders. Out of it came a moonstone coffer inlaid with copper, truly legendary in its craftdwarfship- but that is another story.

No, this is about what happened afterwards. You see, Mefol (as this mason was named) was a simple mason, but now with his perhaps superdwarven might, he lifted stones and the coffer he made with ease. Rather than go mad with power, however, he turned to a simple pursuit.

He made doors. Lots of doors. This was, at first, seen as auspicious by new arrivals, as the living spaces were then cramped, and legendary as the miners were, it would be several seasons before there were enough quarters to house them all. But then he turned out a masterpiece. Door. A masterpiece door. And then another. And another. As you can imagine, the fortress was soon cluttered with doors of excellent quality, but what to do with a door that was a masterpiece? Part of the problem, admittedly, was solved in housing both Mefol and the two legendary miners with five of the doors, but then they kept on arriving.

But Mefol shrugged, and said nothing, content with making his doors.

The Manager And the Maggot

In the town of Quakesieges, on Slate the 13th in the year of 1070, Olon Athelidok, Manager, was enjoying a meal in his dining room. What was strange about this meal was the meal itself. Olon was eating a Purring maggot. A "live" purring maggot. Next time, stick to cheese.

Treoglodytes Sink, Dwarves Float: An Eribbim Story

In the moderately large mounatin hall of Eribbim, "Gorgesling", Project CITADEL was almost complete. The project was a simple enough design: a large castle equippped with a moat and battlements for chasm defense. Sadly, there was only a hammerdwarf on the castle's bridge when a troglodyte emerged form the depths. A fierce battle ensued: the hammerdwarf beat at the troglodyte, but to no avail. The beast thrust the brave hammerdwarf into the moat, but the battle was not yet over. The hammerdwarf grabbed the creatur by the legs and dragged it in along with him, and continued to strangle the creature to death. Sadly, he drowned in the moat moments before it was drained. This story was written by Smoking Gnu

The Missing Guard

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

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

The Fall (and Second Rise) of Slingoceans

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fall of Acetower

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

Swordbear's Joy =

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

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

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

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

The Winter of Discontent (And the Spring of Sorrow)

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

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

But the season was only beginning...

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

Chapter 2 Spring

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

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

Vucar the woodcrafter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Memadamt Thatthilkebul Toral

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

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

You don't want to go to the desert

7 dwarves arrived in the vast red sand desert hoping to start a new life far from the mountainhomes. In the distance Todol, the parties engineer, spotted two dark towers.

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

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

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

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

The lonely mason

In my first successful fortress there was a mason. He was good at his work and enjoyed it. I tasked him with crafting a stone table, I placed it and made it a meeting hall and dining room (grumbles from nobles). In winter I was surprised and intrigued when a message popped up saying that the mason was throwing a party. I waited, but still no one joined him. For FOUR YEARS he repeatedly threw parties, but every other dwarf was always somewhere else at the time, even when dwarves were eating and he threw a party they just muttered and walked off. After this he became secretive and withdrew from society, to his workshop, there he made his master piece, a stone table of fine craft he named aralagra. He carried it everywhere with him and ate on it. But when he threw his last party, alone. The roof collapsed on top of him. His body was never found.

STOP PRESS: Strange Rumblings in Newhomes of Water

(An excerpt from the Dwarven Newspaper the Humble Bolt of Packs)

Tragedy has struck the once-proud Village of Irbom Arel as floods claimed the life of at least eight dwarves, including two children. Among the victims was the fey but brilliant craftsdwarf Feb Likotasen, whose wooden objete d'art were reknowned thoughout the world.

The freak surge of water, which inundated almost half of the fortress, appears to have been caused by a failing of the village reservoir system during refilling. Aban Vukcasfikod, who allegedly constructed almost all of the components in the system, and was constructing defences on the surface when the flood struck, has not made a statement, but the Humble Bolt of Packs can reveal that cause of the flood was mechanical. Engineers from Idithreg Limar have been dispatched to examine the site.

According to one source, the floodgate which controlled the flow of river water into a reservoir deep below the surface failed to shut, causing wells feeding from the reservoir to overflow and spill into the corridors.

Most of the victims were gathered in the unfinished meeting hall and statue park dubbed "The Red Room." Among them was Dumed Osustmorul, a rising star in the engraving world, who had recently finished the stunning renovation of Mayor Akrullod's chambers. She was to be the creative powerhouse behind The Red Room, having singlehandedly tranformed it from a mined out Kaolinite cluster into the social hub of the village.

At the time of printing, Mayor Akrullod and a visiting diplomat are still unaccounted for. It is believe the two are trapped in an unfurnished bedroom five levels below the surface. A rescue attempt has begun, with miners optimistic that the dwarves can be retrieved.

Luckily, it seems that most of the village's citizenry were close to the surface at the time, due to the recent arrival of a trading caravan, including Newhome's youngest inhabitant, a newborn girl who recently survived an abduction attempt by goblin raiders.

Gotta love tha little fellas

It's the story we all know really, but my guys put the cherry on top of the cream.
They started excessively eating and drinking right when the caravan showed up, 2 improved on it by going to bed in the middle of depot hauling. When i had my broker at the depot and finally at least most of my trading stuff too, that *** decided to have a drink, then wander off to some stockpile sorting! After successful trading (yes, they really took my native platinum floodgate and armor stand accidents worth 2800 bucks! Didn't even have to sell much food to buy the caracan off) he and the liason did the obligatory 'dance round the fortress' ending up in his bedroom..the liason being female..meeting its called, i see. And now i know why it takes so long too. Then it was time for the rest of my brave workers to go sleep, littering the space between depot and piles with items and leaving most of my valuable shopping bags outside, ready to grab for the goblins. I see why brokerboy is tired, but the rest? This will prolong the stay of Ms Crazy of course and we are only half through the meetings..fun to come for Outpost Thobardes.

The Channel Digger

One day my favorite miner started working on his tunnel for the water to flow through. When he reached the water. It started flowing in to the cave and he ran for his life. Finaly at the door which would stop the water, he discovered the door was locked and he drowned. Because one of the mechanisems didn't work, the whole farm project failed and he gave his life for nothing. Poor digger.

Sweet Likotasen's Baadasssss Song

Oh, that Feb Likotasen! Immortalized on over a dozen engravings for the construction of her famed oaken amulet in the earliest days of Irbom Ardel, her most important achievement was perhaps the construction of over a thousand intricately carved arrows, which served the fort's fledgling army well against goblin besiegers. Why, she was practically considered a living saint! Alas, nothing lasts forever. As the years went by, the sight of so many of her pointy wooden children being crushed, shattered or swept aside must have sapped her sanity, for in the autumn of 1066 she flew into a terrible rage. Even Mebzuth Akrullod, he of the silver tongue, city-father and a hero in his own right, was unable to calm her; Feb throttled the life out of him in a fit of rage. Overcome by guilt, she was led away to her fate by The Hammerer, a wicked smile at play across his scarred features. Moments before the first deadly blow fell, the fury overcame her once more and she lashed out at The Hammerer, wounding him. With a howl, he fled to his lair in the bowels of the earth to nurse his wounds. The guards were to scared to go after someone who had bested their leader, and for days Feb Likotasen stalked the halls, her countrydwarves in staring in awe. But it was not to last. The Hammerer, his wound healed, sought vengeance, and slew her as she slept. So ends the story of Feb Likotasen, who created a treasure, saved a fort, slew a hero and shamed a noble.

@@ Line 850: / Line 850: @@
 One day my favorite miner started working on his tunnel for the water to flow through. When he reached the water. It started flowing in to the cave and he ran for his life. Finaly at the door which would stop the water, he discovered the door was locked and he drowned. Because one of the mechanisems didn't work, the whole farm project failed and he gave his life for nothing. Poor digger.
+----
+===Sweet Likotasen's Baadasssss Song===
+Oh, that Feb Likotasen! Immortalized on over a dozen engravings for the construction of her famed oaken amulet in the earliest days of Irbom Ardel, her most important achievement was perhaps the construction of over a thousand intricately carved arrows, which served the fort's fledgling army well against goblin besiegers. Why, she was practically considered a living saint! Alas, nothing lasts forever.
+As the years went by, the sight of so many of her pointy wooden children being crushed, shattered or swept aside must have sapped her sanity, for in the autumn of 1066 she flew into a terrible rage. Even Mebzuth Akrullod, he of the silver tongue, city-father and a hero in his own right, was unable to calm her; Feb throttled the life out of him in a fit of rage. Overcome by guilt, she was led away to her fate by The Hammerer, a wicked smile at play across his scarred features. Moments before the first deadly blow fell, the fury overcame her once more and she lashed out at The Hammerer, wounding him. With a howl, he fled to his lair in the bowels of the earth to nurse his wounds.
+The guards were to scared to go after someone who had bested their leader, and for days Feb Likotasen stalked the halls, her countrydwarves in staring in awe. But it was not to last. The Hammerer, his wound healed, sought vengeance, and slew her as she slept. So ends the story of Feb Likotasen, who created a treasure, saved a fort, slew a hero and shamed a noble.
+----
 [[Category:Humor and stories]]