ASCII art reward

If you are sending a donation to Bay12Games, you can choose to recieve an ASCII Art Reward. It is a small scene happening in the Dwarf Fortress world. If the same donator gives more than one time, it is also possible that the bits of ASCII Art follow each other and form a story.

Each piece of ASCII Art Reward belong to the donator who received it, but to appetize new potential donators, sharing them might be a good thing :

Beefx

(25 June 2007)

"++@k@++"

Zolon and Morul stood near the steel cage. The brown humanoid inside sat with its hands on its knees, rocking back and forth.

"Clearly, the kobold was molded from stone." Zolon stroked his black beard. He then glanced at Morul, raising an eyebrow.

"Not so fast... the yellow eyes glow. Fire was involved." Morul was a slow thinker, but he was not easily moved.

"Stagis! Bacabadabis!" The kobold began to screech in its low tongue. Zolon and Morul observed in silence until the creature quieted down.

"Was that the wind then?" Zolon asked.

"It seems the interplay of the elements is nuanced in this one, even if the final realization is... lacking."

Morul did not disdain the beast so much that he did not feed it, now that the trapper had entrusted it into his keeping. The philosopher had left a few pieces of old venison in the cage and the creature now lifted one and inspected it. After a few sniffs, the kobold pitched it through the steel bars. The dwarves watched as the meat spun through the air and landed a few yards from the cage. When they turned back around, the kobold was inches away from them, its face pressed against the bars.

"Augis," it moaned. "Augis!" Louder and louder it wailed.

Zolon and Morul covered their ears. "And this is a tempest?" Zolon said facetiously.

"Let's adjourn until the storm passes. Perhaps we can find a meal the thing will accept." Morul turned and walked down a nearby corridor, toward the kitchen. Zolon followed close behind.

After they had left, the kobold stopped moaning and sat back on its haunches. Opening its small clawed fingers, the creature smiled. On its palm rested an iron key.

Bombcar

(30 December 2007)

++g~~U~~C+++

Goblins in tattered rags pulled the chains with speed as the whips cracked. Slowly the gate rose revealing a grotesque creature bent on destruction. Its three eyes bounced on their stalks as the monster pulled itself forward on two huge, muscular arms. It came to a sudden halt as Ameltoss the wizard stepped into its path. Though he had raised it from a stinking poisonous egg, the wizard knew not whether he still commanded the beast. This was the final test. He raised his staff and commanded the monster to return to its lair. The creature's lips peeled back to reveal ten rows of razor sharp teeth. Ameltoss swallowed hard and shouted his command once more. Now was the moment of truth.

(13 April 2009)

c+||@++c+cc+@@||,.,,.U,ggCgggT

The dwarf Frankle ran through the corridors, chasing after the many cats that infested the fortress. He stopped when the alarm was sounded. The captain of the guard shouted orders. The dwarves rushed to their stations. Frankle, a reserve marks-dwarf, grabbed up a crossbow from the arsenal and trotted up the stairs to man the battlements. When he reached the top he saw the other marks-dwarves standing, shocked by what they saw. Taking a deep breath, he looked over the side.

At the fortress gate stood an enormous monster, dragging itself upon its vicious, clawed arms. Goblins stood around it, jeering, and hurling curses. A feeling of terror gripped Frankle’s chest. In all his years in the service he had never fired his bow in anger, but no bolt could take this beast down. The captain put a hand on Frankle’s shoulder. Below, a robed man stepped out before the creature. A fresh scar transected his missing left eye. It was the evil wizard Ameltoss.

“Lay down your weapons and accept a swift death,” shouted the wizard. A bolt thudded down between his feet. “Somehow I thought you’d refuse. Release the beast!”

A troll stepped forward wielding a huge axe. With several violent chops, the chain binding the monster's wrist was broken. The creature surged forward. Frankle screamed in fright and fired his crossbow. His bolt, along with a dozen others, bounced harmlessly from the creatures hide. As the monster beat down the gate. It seemed their was no hope. That was when champion dwarf Rokwan emerged from the keep within the castle.

Bott Maggot

(03 August 2007)

+&=o=@+

"You've come, Kogan. The Lordaxe. It is said you have a mighty constitution, but can you hold your own at my table?" The demon slammed the great flagon down on to the center of the table. A few dark drops splattered on the stone and smouldered.

"I can take whatever you offer, fiend, and I'll count you a poor host if that brew there on the table doesn't move me half as much as the whiskey of my homeland."

"Ah, your homeland. It will make a fine gateway to the Underworld someday."

"I wish I could say the dwarves would enjoy making a mine of this palace, but alas, your halls reek of filth. It would be difficult to persuade them."

"Less talk, more drink. You call yourself a dwarf?"

Without another word, Kogan seized the flagon with his scarred fist. He could feel the infernal heat emanating from the brew, and the smell was appalling. Even so, he hefted the drink to his open mouth and downed it completely, setting the empty flagon on the table in triumph.

Brownie210

(22 December 2008)

+&@\O+||~~~~~~~~~

Sweat glistened on the hairy dwarf's body as he wrestled the dark lord Slandar. Above them lay the steel orifice holding back the sea of lava that was the last defense against the evil army, if only a dwarf could pull the lever. The dwarf held the evil general's arm in both hands as the fiend tried to drive his dagger through the hero's heart.

"Slandar," asked the dwarf, "when did you become so hot-headed?"

The dwarf let go of the villain's arm and pulled the lever. As the fiend drove his blade through the laughing dwarf's heart, the gates opened above and a torrent of lava fell from the ceiling, incinerating them both in a cloud of steam.

Caeonosphere

(07 January 2008)

,.U-.,.GT.

The mighty barbarian clenched his teeth as he snapped the arrow protruding from his chest. He laughed as he bounded through the brush after the cowardly ambusher. Just another scar among many, proving his manhood like all the rest. The foolish goblin archer tried to scale a tree to lose him. Smiling with anticipation of the kill, the barbarian took a throwing axe from his belt and hurled it at his enemy. The blade struck the goblin in the helmet, splitting it in two. As the stunned goblin sank to the base of the tree, the barbarian approached him, grabbing him by the throat.

"Well, my friend," said the barbarian. "It looks as if this game has come to an end."

ChazFox

(25 October 2009)

,.E@UU,.,

Mighty knight Dron looked on his companions with a measuring stare. To his right was Glome, a marksdwarf most renowned, cleaning his weapon, a blindfold across his eyes. Across from him stood the elven warrior princess and summoner of animals, Tigotha. At his left was Alvin, his squire. These chosen few were destined to quest across the land in search of the evil wizard Zandore.

"The vile villain is not far off now," said Dron. "I can smell his evil magic."

"It could be another one of his tricks," said Tigotha. "It wouldn't be the first time you were fooled."

"Put me anywhere up to league away from evil wizard Zandore," said marksdwarf Glome, "and the war will be over." The dwarf pulled the trigger and his crossbow snapped with sudden force.

"Master," cried Alvin, "I see something!"

Davion

(28 July 2008)

bBbBbBbB####HU*########||+UU+||

The master thief leapt from the tower, the royal jewels still in his hands. The pursuing guard ran to the side to watch in wonder as the burglar plunged to his death. But lo, a giant hawk flew down and plucked him out of the sky. The aging king stormed out onto the roof of the tower, still in his bed clothes.

"Curse you Faltrix!" screamed the king as the bird flew toward the horizon.

The rogue had known the hawk since it was a hatchling. It was then he had pulled an arrow from its wing. Thus began the most famous partnership of the age. The hawk rider and his steed were known throughout the land as heroes of the people, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.

A dark cloud rose on the horizon. The smile fell from Faltrix's lips as the evil creatures sprung their ambush. Bat men! How had these creatures strayed so far from the mountains? The evil beings rode giant bats and shot poison darts from their blow guns. Faltrix commanded his mount to dive low. Perhaps he could lose them in the trees of the forest below.

(28 September 2008)

kbkkbkb,..,..HU,..*.@,...

Down, down into the forest canopy they flew. Faltrix's heart raced as they wove through the trees, the bat men close behind. Just when he thought he lost them, the hawk called out with a piercing cry. A net of vines dropped from the treetops above, fouling the bird's wings. They crashed to the forest floor with a thud and slid forward in the dirt. Faltrix drew his sword and cut through the web. High-pitched cackling echoed from above. Kobolds! The rogue set about cutting his avian steed free, but the hawk did not stir from unconsciousness.

"Agron!" screamed Faltrix. "Agron!"

Black shadows dropped from vines above. The kobolds drew their jagged blades. As they surrounded him the batmen caught up just it time to finish him off. A dozen poison darts landed at his feet. Why didn't they kill him?

"Agron," said the rogue, "if we get out of this, you can eat all the giant rats you want."

The kobolds parted to reveal a short wizard in a glowing red robe, a long hood covering his face. Faltrix lowered his blade as the menacing figure approached. The wizard threw back his hood to reveal the face of an evil dwarf. Faltrix threw the stolen Eye of Atheria at his feet.

"Take the jewel," said Faltrix, "just let Agron live."

"Touching," said the dwarf, "but fear not, I will have need of the rider and his hawk to complete the ultimate quest."

"Quest?" asked Faltrix.

Ergot

(14 June 2007)

""w"w@%"w"w

Doran shifted from foot to foot as he looked from side to side. Eventually the dwarf's head dropped and he clutched his beard, his wide eyes wild, staring at the dirt. They were everywhere.

"Cave weevils. Cave weevils on my crops. My pig tails, all of my pig tails are gone. But this season will be different, mark my words, by the Lordaxe it will." The dwarf pulled a bulky glove from his belt. The knuckles were studded with iron. Doran slid the glove over his hand, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. The farmer's eyes grew dark.

One of the foot-long insects crawled in front of the dwarf, and he hammered it into the earth with his fist, smashing the weevil until it was well-ground. "Flat. I'll pound 'em all flat. We might not have cloth this year, but we'll have plenty of meal."

Furiousfish

(14 July 2007)

++@g####

"Tell me where the child is being taken and I'll let you live!" Kogan yelled down at the goblin, desperation marking his voice. Mul had shot this wretch in the leg, but the kidnapper had escaped. The goblin hanging by Kogan's hand over the chasm was just a bodyguard. The goblin smiled wickedly, taking delight in Kogan's distress. "Even now, your child is approaching the prison where he'll live out the next decade of his miserable life," it spat. "And then, well..." The fiend began to chuckle. "Where is the child?" Kogan asked with finality. The goblin closed its eyes and was silent. Kogan let the creature drop away into the darkness.

(27 February 2008)

","".g%@.",""."..

Dorol struggled against the coarse sackcloth. The darkness was total,and it smelled even more foul than his uncle's rotten-toothed whiskeybreath. He had been playing with his miniforge by the cave river when everything had gone black. Dorol had heard a commotion shortly after, followed by terrible undwarven screaming, but afterward just the soft footfalls of somebody running quickly along with the rustling of the sack. At once, whoever was carrying him stopped and let the sack drop hard on the ground. There was a rustling, and the sack opened. It was nighttime, and Dorol could see the face of his captor looking down at him. A goblin! The fiend pulled the cloth down far enough that Dorol's head stuck up out of the opening. The dwarf held tightly onto his toy, uncertain and afraid. "Here, eat this," the goblin said, holding out something. Dorol worked one of his hands out of the sack and took the offering. It wasa piece of spoiled meat, crawling with diseased larvae. The child dropped it on the ground by the sack. "Hey, that's good meat," the goblin complained, reaching down to pick it up. "The master gave it to me just for you." The goblin lowered its voice and mumbled. "I'd eat it, but he is always watching me, and he knows when I've been bad. "Now eat up," the goblin drew closer and pushed the meat into the dwarf's face. Like a true smith, the dwarven child struck, smashing the hammer of his miniforge into the goblin's eye! The goblin cringed, clutching his face. After a moment he shook his head and looked up at the sack, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen. Filling with rage, driven by fear of his master's torments, the goblin shouted, "You can't run, you hairy snot! I'll hunt you, and I'll find you!" Snatching up the sack, the goblin ran off into the wilds.

Fuzzy

(31 October 2008)

.,G,@,,.

The dwarves buried Administrator Zarhan face down, so that when evil spirits animated his soulless corpse, as surely they would, he would dig straight down into the Underworld and away from the land of the living. For a season after, the fortress was beset by a horrible howling that filled the corridors. The dwarves of the fortress were driven to near madness. Eventually the sounds faded.

It was not long after that a young engraver found a floor hatch, which had not been there the previous night. He opened the hatch and put his head through. Phantom arms grabbed him and pulled him inside.

"You fools didn't think I'd forget up from down did you?" hissed the ghost of Zarhan.

Hellzon

(17 December 2007)

,.@@~~o~~~

A rock plopped into the cave river from the platform above. There Durgal and the dwarf girl sat, above the murky waters. Durgal explained, in great detail, his plans for the future. When the riches of the mountain were plundered, he would diagram the plans for a second fortress himself. How the dwarves would love him!

"But in your haste for riches," asked the girl, "would you have time for the ones you love?"

Durgal's face became red as a cave turnip. He looked quickly away from her and stared into the dark water. There, eyes gazed up to meet him. Durgal reached for his axe, telling the girl to warn the others. A pale, slimy hand reached out of the depths and pulled the creature upward. It was an olmman!

(3 September 2008)

ff,@,.@,o~~~~~

"Back!" cried Durgal, "back to the hall!" The dwarf girl turned and screamed. Two blind cave fish men blocked the way out. Durgal turned and swung his axe at the olmman, now completely out of the water. It deftly dodged his panicked swings. The dwarf girl screamed as the cave fish men crawled toward her, arms outstretched, feeling their way along the floor.

"By the power of the Lordaxe!" screamed Durgal, holding his axe aloft. The dungeon rumbled. The sound of water crashed through the tunnel. The fighters were swept away. The olmman grabbed Durgal's axe arm as they were washed through the watery tunnel. The dwarf pulled a dagger from his belt and jammed it into the monster's guts.

"Gula!" cried Durgal, bursting above the surface of the water. He pulled the axe free of the olmman's grasp and brought the pommel down on its head, knocking it senseless. "Gula!" he cried again. With sudden terror, Durgal recalled where this tunnel led -- the chasm. Only a few seconds until the ultimate terrible plunge.

"Durgal!" cried the dwarf girl, Gula. With all his strength, he stretched to reach her in the crashing water.

Janus

(12 October 2006)

BgB
B@g
gBB

Beak dogs and goblins surround the adventurer! What will happen next?!

(13 February 2007)

gg...
.B.B=
..BB.
.%B@/
.-...

One of the five beak dogs pounced. Rogar leapt, planting a foot on the beast's head and propelling himself toward the tattoed goblin. Just as they collided, Rogar planted his dagger through the goblin's left eye. They hit the ground hard, and Rogar rolled forward to his feet, spinning to face the remaining eight opponents. The beak dog he had jumped on was still shaking its head, wincing. Behind them stood a wiry goblin with a wild mane of maroon hair, brandishing a scimitar, and a lardy goblin holding an iron-studded club.

The beak dogs charged Rogar in unison. His dagger was stuck back in the twitching goblin's face, but weaponless he stood his ground before them. The first dog to reach him received Rogar's knee under its chin, the long cruel spike at the top of the warrior's half-greave piercing the creature's throat. Two more beak dogs reached him as he twisted his leg in the air, trying to free it from his bleeding adversary. The beasts slammed into him, one getting a hold of his right arm above the elbow, the other gnashing at his face. Before it could tear his nose off, Rogar grabbed it by the neck with his left hand and held it back. The other dog sank its beak deeper into the flesh of Rogar's arm. Could this be the end?!

(5 May 2007)

|+@g+++

Rogar awoke in pain, his wrists in chains, his wounded arm throbbing. He opened his eyes only to be greeted by an all-encompassing darkness. This must be Shalthidon's dungeon, which meant that he was locked inside the Tower of Hate from which no man had ever returned.

A dim light flickered some distance away, and he could see the silhouetted bars of his prison. Beyond them, shadows danced, and he heard a grating sound. The bars slid aside, and the lardy goblin waddled into the chamber holding a torch.

The foul creature stood below Rogar where he hung, an idiot grin perking up the otherwise sagging jowls of its bloated face.

"The master says you are to be entertained," it croaked as it continued to smile.

"I do not desire such pleasures as Shalthidon has to offer," Rogar answered. "Be off with you. The larder has grown lonely."

"The master says you are to feel the fire," the thing chortled. The goblin lifted the torch and took a step toward Rogar.

It was enough. Rogar lashed out with his legs, hooking them around the goblin's neck. In a feat of strength that would become legend, Rogar strained against the chains on his arms, lifting the massive goblin and all its corpulence from the floor. There was a sickening crack, and the fixtures in the ceiling gave way. Rogar fell into the goblin's lardy folds, pushing away desperately until he regained his feet, ready to fight, but the goblin was already dead with a broken neck.

Fortunately, the torch had not been smothered. The warrior picked it up and held it high. There was nothing else in the cell. Aside from the chains, the torch was his only possession. Now it's the master who'll be entertained, Rogar thought, as he strode out into the passageway.

(7 August 2007)

@+++"E"

Rogar strode toward the great iron doors, leaving a trail of blood that was not his own. In his hand he held a scimitar and from each of his wrists the chains still hung. All of the servants of Shalthidon that lurked within the Tower of Hate were now dead, save whatever was in this room at the pinnacle of the tower. The sword he had seized from the maroon-maned goblin, who had led the goblins in the tower barracks.

The warrior pushed hard on the iron doors and they opened inward with a groan. There, surrounded by brightly colored flowers, was an elf. The sun shone down on the tower top through windows in the elegant curved ceiling. The entire room sparkled.

"Are you a prisoner here? Where is Shalthidon?" Rogar asked urgently.

The elf chuckled pleasantly. "Child, Rogar, I am Shalthidon. My parents named me Lilarilqua, but my attempts to hold the goblins under my sway with that name met with disaster. Are you cold? Let me fetch you something warm." Shalthidon fished around under a dresser and pulled out a plush cloak with lacy frills. "The material was all offered freely from the feather trees, Rogar. You don't have to worry about the animals."

Rogar was still stunned. Shalthidon, the Bringer of Ruin, murderer of his parents, lord of the evil of the creeping wastes that had engulfed half the world, was an elf. Dispelling the cloud over his mind, the warrior focused. That will only make killing him all the more satisfying, he thought. Rogar lifted his blade and advanced.

Joystick Hero

(14 September 2010)

%W%%W%    ,.,."","@@@@".,@

Fires burned on the high mountain. The wind carried the cries of the dwarves as all they ever cared about was destroyed. But one dwarf had not given in to despair. It was Malvedar, slayer of dragons and veteran of a thousand famous battles. He watched the dwarf fortress burn from his hiding place in the wooded slope. There would come a time when the enemy was not so lucky, when his schemes failed. That would be when they remember what they did to the dwarves this day and would expect no mercy.

“Lord Malvedar,” said a dwarf soldier, “I think the werewolves have caught our scent.”

The dwarf warlord nodded. Together, the ragged band of dwarven survivors made their way down the slope. The road back to the mountain homes was long and full of danger, but there was nowhere else left to go. While others cried, Malvedar resisted the urge to throw himself on the enemy. He would kill many, but not enough before he was brought low. No. It would be a hard time, and a long time, but he would have his satisfaction.

Kosmos

(11 September 2007)

T+TT@C +

"Twist my arm, why don't you? You louse," Doran had complained as Bomtek continued to bother him.

"Come on, Doran! It's just a bottle of whiskey. The Baron won't miss it. When you deliver his table, just take a little something for yourself. And share it with me."

Now Doran was standing in the Baron's dining room. It already had a fine granite table at its center; the noble had just wanted an obsidian corner piece as an accent. As the dwarf set the table down, Bomtek's repeated needling suggestions still echoed in his mind. It was just one bottle. There are so many in the cabinet. The Baron won't miss just one of them.

The dwarf had to pass the cabinet on the way out. With every step toward it, he felt the whiskey within calling in his heart. Doran's face flushed hot and his stomach felt as if it were being squeezed and twisted. Maybe I'll just look, he thought. Just look and go. He reached out his hand and gently opened the cabinet's door. There was only one bottle inside. Bomtek, you fool, he thought. Yet the whiskey still beckoned him forward, and he continued to gaze on the bottle in silence as it drew him ever closer.

Laod

(15 October 2006)

T..o..T

Trolls are playing dodgeball with a boulder!  Who will win?!

--Laod 15 October 2006

MacGyvers_Mullet

Rognar:(11 November 2007)

%%%@%%%,../.,\

The sword slid through the goblin's throat and the dying creature fell to the ground sputtering. Rognar had been born into a world of violence, and he would not share it with these stinking beasts. Striding upon their unnumbered broken bodies, the warrior reached the summit of the corpse mound and surveyed the carnage. The siege had been broken. Here and there, a wimpering slave of darkness put up resistance or simply clung to life, but soon they would all be vanquished and the sun would bring a glorious dawn to the blood-red battlefield. Rognar smiled. It was a great day to be a dwarf.

-Tarn

Neandar Begin:(3 July 2008)

!!()!!,k,...@,..#######||

He would never let the fiend escape again. That was what Neandar the dwarf thought before he flung himself into the black air of the chasm after the skulking kobold thief. For many seconds they fell, time enough for Neandar to recall his short life and short career on the Fortress Guard. Wet matter slammed into the dwarf's face and gave way. The dwarf smashed through a dozen giant spider webs and hit the ground running, hot on the trail of the kobold scum.

A huge standing ring of fire dominated the floor of the chasm. The kobold made for the hell portal with all speed. Neandar stopped in his tracks. It was one thing to plunge to certain death in order to retrieve a granite puzzle box. It was quite another to cast oneself into a dimension of ultimate evil. Yet these kobold cowards could not be allowed to run about as they pleased. Lifting his axe over his head, the dwarf charged into the portal of doom.

-Zach

McDoomhammer

(5 May 2008)

T,.ggUggg..TT------,TT,.T.U.UU.,..TTT

The three chosen warriors left the Citadel of Hope, strapped on with all manner of magic weapons that the Council of Elders had presented them. Shizenbubin was the tracker of the group, always hot on the trail of danger. Shizentubin was her sister, skilled in the ways of the blade so that no enemy neck was safe. Azoul Buck was the leader. She ran her fingers through her short blond hair, her muscular arm flexing, covered with the crude tattoos of her tribe.

This would be a short quest indeed. A party of goblins had ambushed the prince on his way to the castle. All the heroes need do is return him unspoiled. It would be easy to intercept them then on their way to the Black Fortress, given Shizenbubin's incredible skill. However, time was not on their side. Goblins grew bored easily and might make sport of the prince's bodily members. Azoul set the pace, a quick trot through the woods. She smiled at the easily-won glory that awaited her squad at the end of the journey.

FFLaguna

(5 May 2008)

===UHH,...===UHH,........[===].//+//````

Merchant Prince Gramlin snorted while batting away acorn flies with his monkey hair swatter. 'Realm of Artifice,' ha! 'Dirt Fortress,' he named it. These pathetic dwarves scratched a hole in the earth and produced nothing but rock toys to offer the human caravans. The journey was long and the profits few. At last the trees cleared revealing a low hill with a single door, the trade platform lying before it. Gramlin looked around him. Not a dwarf was to be seen. They were probably sleeping off a night of unrestrained debauchery. He ordered his men to lay the goods onto the platform.

A sudden pain rocked the merchant. He looked down at his great gut and saw a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. As he sank to the earth, he cursed. The dwarves had gone feral, maddened by their pathetic conditions. The caravan was routed and fled into the woods, leaving their precious cargo on the platform. The last thing Gramlin saw was the face of a mad dwarf, foaming at the mouth and snarling before it took his scalp.

McMe

(13 January 2010)

UU+U++G.,,...

A knock came at the mead hall gate. A powerful blow, nearly tearing the doors from their hinges. King Wrathbeard drew his sword and strode to the entrance, flanked by his elite warriors. He nodded to his men and they unbarred the door. The doors swung open, revealing the enormous, heavily-muscled body of Grum, half-giant, lord of the hills.

"Where are my chickens?" growled Grum. "You are to offer me four fried chickens on every Tuesday! Friday it is!"

Wrathbeard stroked his whiskers. "What have you done for me lately, Grum?" asked the king. "Goblins still haunt the highways. Jackal men still harass my herds."

Grum left the hall in confusion, sure he had been tricked. Back on his hill, Grum watched as a carriage was stopped by goblin bandits and the nobles stripped of their valuables. Feeling his stomach rumbling, Grum stood and ran toward the highway.

"Where is the rest of the gold!" yelled the goblin.

The nobles coward, fearing for their lives. The goblin raised his whip, better to lash them again. A huge hand caught him by the wrist. Grum tossed the goblin into the air. The nobles screamed. The half-giant scowled.

"I will have my chickens," he said, "whether you live or die."

Md5i

(12 May 2007)

##.,.||+++@+|

"That ought to keep 'em out," Doran said confidently, patting the granite block which he had just slid into place. Ever since the Baron had insisted on mining out the gold vein in the wall, Doran had been dealing with the rats. It couldn't be helped. Gold was gold after all, but it was just Doran's luck that the miners had broken through to a large chasm not far from the craftsdwarf's room.

The dwarf laid down on his bed and began to think about the next project. A puzzlebox, perhaps, something challenging. Just as Doran was drifting off into dreams of the design, he heard a scratching on the block.

"Ha! Keep trying you little demons," the dwarf chuckled. The scratching continued. It was irritating, but the dwarf could block it out. Then there was a grating scrape as the block moved an inch. The dwarf sat up and stared at the wall in amazement. Impossible, he thought.

The block slid forward further. Small, clawed fingers worked their way around the stone until a gray, furry hand grasped one corner of the block. The stone turned slightly.

Doran seized his chisel from the nearby table and leapt toward the block, stabbing downward. The tool grazed the hand, leaving a spatter of blood on the stone. There was a shriek, and the bleeding hand disappeared into the dark crack.

The craftsdwarf pushed the block back into place and backed away, chisel in hand. After a moment, the scratching began anew.

(07 Jun 2007)

##.,.||%r%+@+|

"Leave me be, you fiend!" Doran yelled, his chisel held toward the stone block. The scratching became louder and more persistent.

Once again, the block moved, but this time no fingers poked through the crack. The beast had learned. The slab of granite was being pushed directly from behind, and it glided slowly toward Doran. The dwarf backed toward his bed.

The block stopped sliding. There was now enough space to allow something to pass through the hole in the wall, but the block was large and Doran could not see behind it. For a long moment, nothing stirred. The craftsdwarf knelt and opened the chest by the foot of his bed, muttering.

At once, a creature leapt from behind the block and faced Doran. It was a ratman, ravening, its long yellow incisors surrounded by froth, its patchy-furred flesh stretched tight over its starved body. The thing hungered and would have Doran for its meal.

The dwarf stood, a vial in his hand. The ratman lunged forward and Doran hurled the vial at the beast's face. The glass shattered, and the creature clutched its black protruding eyes as they steamed. Doran rushed forward and stabbed the ratman repeatedly with the chisel until it stopped moving.

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

(15 Jul 2007)

##===@=D####

"Yes, I'm sorry, Mul, it would have been a thrilling project," Doran said, pausing to take another swig of whiskey. "I can't believe how much trouble we've been having with ratmen lately."

"Perhaps there's a larger beast down in the chasm riling them up," Mul replied. "Kogan's child was taken not long ago."

"Yes, surely something unusual is afoot."

Meanwhile, Kogan stood with his axe by the chasm bridge. Ever since the boy Aliz had been lost, the soldier had tirelessly patrolled the walkways along the deepest parts of the rift, killing dozens of ratmen and a few large spiders. He would not be satisfied until the depths were devoid of life.

A foul wind blew up from the chasm. Kogan leaned to the side and peered down over the edge of the bridge. The impact was sudden and the dwarf was knocked on his back in the middle of the bridge. Kogan heard the sound of stone being scraped without respect, and he.found himself staring into the rotten eyes of a giant decaying reptile.

Midelne

Fish Dwarf Begin: (6 August 2007)

~~@~~X

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

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

(8 November 2007)

~~~@%X

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

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

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

(10 December 2007)

+@@+@@@+~~~~~

"Fish-Dwarf, you have saved us!" the children shouted as the wet dwarf pulled his way up on to the bank. He had finished his last cleaning run, and already the floodgate was rising, ushering in the waters that would prepare the way for the summer harvest.

"Truly, Fish-Dwarf, your mastery of the murky depths never ceases to amaze us. You are a hero," the Mayor Kogan said, offering Fish-Dwarf a mug of the outpost's best.

"I am glad I could help," Fish-Dwarf said, draining the mug in one motion. "If only the river waters were whiskey, my life would be complete."

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

Fish-Dwarf pondered a moment. "Indeed. Yet the search for the Whiskey River is a quest for the young, I'm afraid."

"We here at Gladanvil are happy to have you," the Mayor replied as the crowd dispersed. As the others left, the mayor pulled Fish-Dwarf aside.

"-- and yet, I fear you cannot stay long. I've received word from King Dorazar. He has heard tell of your talents, and our liaison from the Mountainhome has conveyed his request for your presence at the capital."

"My presence? Surely the engineers of the Mountainhome can manage the mighty floodgates and channels of Steelpoint without my help."

"It isn't farming trouble, Fish-Dwarf," the Mayor said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Many fisherdwarves have been lost to the waters. There is something lurking in the Lake of Columns."

(18 January 2008)

~~~@/~~%OB%OO%%%~~

Innumerable stalactites hung from the ceiling of the expansive gem-lit cavern, many dipping down through the still surface of the black waters. This was the Lake of Columns, the source of life for Steelpoint, and now a place of dread.

Fish-Dwarf fit the blades into place on his fins. The citizens of Steelpoint did not know what the creature was, but no fewer than seven fisherdwarves had been lost at the shore. No matter, thought Fish-Dwarf. King Dorazar had charged him to slay the lurking threat, and that is what he would do. Still, the nature of the creature eluded him. It had been years since his last combat with an aquatic beast, and then it was only the cave crocodiles and lizardmen that occasionally harassed his own community. Steelpoint would not have sent for him over such a triviality. Hefting his mighty trident, Fish-Dwarf nodded to the gathered onlookers before leaping into the lake.

The water was clear, and he could see the broad columns well ahead of him down to where they joined the submerged floor of the cavern. Behind any of these formations, the beast could lurk.

There! Nestled between three columns was a gigantic bloated form on the lake bottom. Fish-Dwarf swam closer, almost drifting. What manner of beast was this? Great tentacles it had, and a toothy maw which flopped open as it slumbered, surrounded by half-consumed bodies of the dead.

Fish-Dwarf was almost upon it now, his trident lifted above his head as he sank slowly toward the sleeping fiend. As he prepared to strike, the lurid thing's lone eye flashed open.

(15 May 2008)

------------------------
~~~~~~~~~~~@/~%~~~~~~~~~
------------------------

Tentacles lashed out, looping around Fish-Dwarf's torso and pinning his arms to his chest. A force stronger than any he had ever experienced crushed his ribs and a stream of bubbles shot from his mouth as the breath was squeezed from his body. Fish-Dwarf desperately slashed at the tentacles with his fin blades and as his vision faded to black he saw that the water was thick with curling purple ribbons of the foul beast's tainted blood. The monster's grip loosened and Fish-Dwarf was able to free his arms. His sight had not returned, but when he stabbed his trident downward, he felt it sink deep into the creature. The monster's body convulsed and it raced into the open water, Fish-Dwarf still clinging to the imbedded weapon.

I cannot let go so long as I cannot see, or I will surely be devoured, Fish-Dwarf thought, though the beast continued on into the depths at such speed that the diver could not maintain his bearings, and suddenly in the back of his mind arose a strange sensation... it was the need for air, such as he had not experienced for many years. A tingling came to his throat and nose, and his head began to feel numb as he became more desperate for breath, and yet slowly, his vision was returning.

The beast slowed, its energy spent, and it settled on to the lake bottom, unmoving. Fish-Dwarf jammed the trident into it a few times; the thing was dead. Now, the surface! Fish-Dwarf pulled his weapon from the monster and swam upward, but he stopped immediately. As far as he could see in the now-dark water, a smooth ceiling of limestone greeted him. The monster had fled into a great crack in the lake bottom, so far and so deep that the light from the gem lamps was no longer visible. Just the endless water and rock of the submerged tomb of Fish-Dwarf, he thought, as he chose a direction and swam.

Fish Dwarf End: (1 July 2008)

,@!,.~~~~~~~~

He had chosen the wrong direction. Either that or the beast had dragged Fish-Dwarf so far into the mountain that the fires of the underworld were closer than the light of the lamps. His breath was long since gone -- moving forward was all that could keep him from panicking. After every few kicks, the dwarf would reach up to feel the limestone. If anything, the rock was closing in. No... what's this? His hand curled up around a sharp corner. Fish-Dwarf grabbed it firmly with both hands and pulled, launching himself upward.

The dwarf fully expected to meet a wall of rock, but instead he glided freely until at long last he broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. As the dwarf calmed down, he realized that he could still see nothing. He felt walls close by in all directions, as if he had just swum up a shaft, though there was a ledge overhanging the water on to which he could haul himself and rest his weary body. Fish-Dwarf passed in and out of consciousness for a time, perhaps an hour, before he sat up and assessed his situation.

He could dive back into the water with his lungs full of air and try to find the lamps, now unmolested by great underwater beasts, but he did not relish the idea of leaving the entrance to the shaft behind in total darkness as he explored the crevice below. The only alternative was to feel his way along the walls from this ledge above the grotto. These limestone mountains were laced with natural caverns and after a brief exploration of the surrounding stone he found this hollow was no exception -- there was a mud-slicked passage that ran into the mountain. Without hesitation, Fish-Dwarf struck out into the cavern.

-- How long since he had started on this dreary journey? Though the mud was often thick, Fish-Dwarf had not trudged through so much as a puddle these many days. He thirsted for spirits, nay, even water, and he longed to swim again. The dwarf had long since abandoned his fins and other equipment as they encumbered him too much on the march. Every so often, he imagined he saw the gem lamps ahead, though it could just as easily be the cooking fires of a goblin encampment, or some darker torture, as the lights of the capital he sought. There they were, even now... lights! Or light at least, the barest speck in the distance ahead. Fish-Dwarf moved swiftly, no longer plodding, still careful of the stalactites but driving forward rapidly all the same. The speck became an opening, and he could see the mud of the passage floor illuminated in the distance, with stone walls further beyond. Only a few more steps...

The cavern opened out upon a rocky river valley in a canyon sheer to the greatest heights yet welcoming the noon-day sun. The entrance where Fish-Dwarf stood was at the bottom of the cliffs a short walk down pebble-laden slopes to the stream below. Instantly, Fish-Dwarf could tell that these were no ordinary waters. They were the color of honey, yet the current flowed rapidly. And the aroma! The intoxicating aroma! There was no question in his mind. Whether it fell from the throne of some inebriated sky god and vanished into the underworld to besot the armies of hell made no difference, for here, in this world, in this very mountain range, ran the slightest stretch of the Whiskey River. His mind unencumbered by thoughts of duty or home, Fish-Dwarf made his way down to the riverside to drink his fill.

Hunger Begin (11 June 2008)

,..,.++U+,.+,.+U~U||

Suffering blighted the land with cruel hunger. Wagons brought foul fungus from the dwarven mountains. It was barely enough to sustain those base enough to eat such filth. The rest died. Paldadar rested against the hilt of his great sword. He looked over his shoulder at the dark stone castle. Turning his back on mud brick huts, the knight passed by the scraggly bearded guards and entered the keep.

Form a high window, bright, mocking sunlight shone across the dark wooden throne and the troubled king that sat upon it. The old man reached for his cup, and after taking a sip, spat the vile dwarven brew unto the stone floor. A herald in a mud-smattered tunic rushed to wipe up the spill, but seeing the knight, rose to confront him.

"You were not summoned, Sir Paldadar," spit the herald. "Go ask the peasants instead of begging the king for scraps from the royal table."

"Silence, Rodger," said the king.

The herald jumped away like a whipped dog. The king motioned the knight to come forward.

"The gods have abandoned this place," said the king. "Only through their glory will the days of bounty return. It is for this reason you must smite the heathen Farthlings where they dwell across the river. When their land is in ruin, the gods at last will favor us."

The knight ground his teeth. This was obviously High Priest Igland's doing. But perhaps there was wisdom in punishing the arrogant Farthlings for their many insults. Death by the sword was much preferable to slow certain death by starvation.

(17 June 2008)

==?T?====,.UH,.U

As Paldadar walked away from the keep, peasants averted their hungry faces. He was still a knight, even if he represented the most wretched of kingdoms. A frail sissy approached from behind, leading two horses. Paldadar swung around, drawing his sword. There stood Rodger, wearing the snottiest of faces, his nose in the air.

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

Paldadar prayed to the gods for mercy. Would that a Farthling's bolt find his heart soon that he be saved from further tortures. Together the pair made their way to the Temple of Love, where High Priest Igland waited to bless their holy crusade.

The temple was built on a tall hill, a ring of marble columns surrounding an enormous stone stele, pricking the sky with its majesty. All around the temple, peasants scrambled to snatch at the scraps donated by the monks that poured rotten food down the hill. As Paldadar entered the temple, he was surrounded by fat priests and priestesses that danced around him in a grotesque, undulating display.

The knight refused a cup of offered wine, which Rodger snatched up and drank freely.

At the center of the temple, High Priest Igland stood, wearing nothing save a red loincloth.

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

"Many happy couplings," said Paldadar as was the prescribed response.

"You must put an end to the Farthling menace," said the priest, growing angry. "If their God of Suicide spreads his faith to our kingdom, none of our desperate peasants will survive. You must strike the heart of their kingdom and burn their temple to the ground."

Paldadar made the gesture of obedience and departed, pulling Rodger away from the cavorting priests.

The kingdom of the Farthlings was separated from the kingdom of Love by the River of Sorrow, whose wide fast-moving waters could only be crossed in one place. This was the Bridge of Destiny. As the riders approached, Rodger twitched with fear and apprehension, for it was said the bridge was guarded by an evil water troll. At the bridge, Paldadar held up his gauntleted hand. The horses stopped, and the knight dismounted. Paldadar drew his sword and walked out onto the wooden planks.

(3 July 2008)

%,..%,.|%.,.UH,%..%%UH,,%.~%,..(%).,.%|,..%

Green flames shot up from beneath the bridge. Horrid laughter pealed across the blighted landscape. The knight turned to see Rodger making tracks back to the temple with the speed of a spooked hare. Slowly Paldadar looked over his shoulder to see the enormous bloated troll, dripping with slime and black pus.

"You seek to pass into the land of suicide bearing the message of love," said the troll. "What will you tell them, knight? Is slow certain death by starvation superior than the final empowering choice?"

"Where there is life, there is hope," said Paldadar. "Love will overcome all obstacles!"

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

As Paldadar cut the monster down, his mind was wracked with doubt. Was the nation of love superior? He hailed from a place where young people sold themselves for scraps of bread and yet he sought to bring hope to a strange country. He found Rodger hiding in a nearby bush and hauled him, protesting, across the bridge.

The land of the Farthlings was lush and green compared to the land of love. Cherry blossoms rained down on the two riders as they wound their way through the hills. Even in these pleasant surroundings, the demented nature of the Farthlings soon became evident. Bodies dotted the road here and there, swords plunged into their own guts. Corpses hung in the trees from hastily-tied nooses, over eager to take their own lives. As the riders passed, skeletal bodies lifted themselves from the grass to watch them saunter on.

"Make babies, make babies, make babies," babbled Rodger, madly reciting the Charm of Making.

At last they reached the capital of the Farthlings. The wind blew red rose petals through the cold, dead streets. Even the cheerful sun seemed dim in the vast tomb of a city. Rodger stared straight ahead as they made their way to the keep, careful not to look into the dark doorway, behind which ominous rustlings could be heard.

The flag of Farthlingland flew above the ramparts of the citadel. At the base of the wall lay the piles of bones of those who had hopelessly thrown themselves over the side. A wide moat circled the castle. As the two riders approached, a draw bridge was lowered over the water. Paldadar thought he could see a crowned figure on the wall beckoning them inside. As they crossed the bridge, Rodger made the mistake of looking down into the water. The currents were filled with the souls of those who drowned themselves in desperate sorrow. Eyes shut tight, Rodger hugged the neck of his horse, and followed Paldadar into the gate.

onodera

(01 November 2008)

"",",.@,.T,"""

"Don't let the sun set on you in the Dark Wood," said the dwarf crones. "Ole Brick-a-Branch will get you." Nonsense, thought young Davik as he rode his mule along the twisting green deer path. The darkness came quickly as the sun slipped behind the trees. As he set about making a fire, Davik pondered the dark tales of Brick-a-branch and his mischief.

Not even the elves dared enter the Wood at night. Something older than time haunted these cursed trees, but this valley was the quickest way to Port City, saving at least a month of travel. As the night grew darker and colder, Davik fumbled in his pack to retrieve the charms and idols he had nearly refused as the journey began.

A great shape emerged from the darkness. It was a gnarled troll, as old as the hills. It picked up Davik by the ankle.

"Not much meat here," it said.

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

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

"I will not eat you," said the monster, "If you can answer me these riddles three."

Peristarkawan

(16 May 2007)

=@()++@

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

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

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

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

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

"Glornol's scared of the mean, mean goblins!" the second chocolate goblin observed.

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

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

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

Qwip

(05 December 2006)

...@T@..###S#

Taking a break from their duty, the two guards sat at a table with a scenic view of the chasm. They did not notice as they drained their mugs that they were being watched from the shadows by clusters of pale eyes. A table by the chasm?! --Qwip 05 December 2006

(09 February 2007)

.@......####
...T@@~S####
.......#####

Dolan was chatting with Aliz about the health benefits of dwarven beer when Aliz disappeared. Dolan sprang to his feet and saw that Aliz was being dragged toward the chasm, a thick rope of translucent silk wrapped around his left ankle. At the lip of the chasm, a bloated form slowly reeled the line in with her spindly legs. Dolan knew immediately -- it was the Wolf-Mother of Darkness. He grabbed his axe and ran toward Aliz, who was now only a few more pulls from the beast.

As he was hauling ore to the magma smelter, the peasant Kogarak saw the situation, screamed, dropping his load, and ran toward the barracks. As he heard the sound of an axe ring against stone behind him, he wondered if he would make it in time.

— Qwip 08:40, 9 February 2007 (EST)

(18 April 2007)

@@@...@.####
@..T..@S####
.......#####

The axe had scored the stone floor where it had severed the silk line. The Wolf-Mother chittered angrily and pounced at Dolan, moving with surprising quickness. Dolan was knocked to the ground, the enormous body of the foul creature pressing him into the stone. His axe clanged some distance away. The blunt knobs at the end of the Wolf-Mother's forelegs dug into Dolan's ribs as her dripping mandibles drew closer to his face. He grabbed her head with both hands, trying desperately to keep her at bay. A foul-smelling spittle dripped on to his cheek.

Aliz, still dazed from his initial fall, slowly made his way to his feet. Seeing Dolan's desperate struggle, he drew his sword and hacked at one of the Wolf-Mother's legs. The bumpy skin was incredibly tough, but the steel blade left the appendage hanging by tatters. The Wolf-Mother belched a grating rasp and rolled away from Aliz and faced the dwarves. Dolan crawled toward his axe, but the nauseating venom drenching his face and beard had left him almost powerless. The Wolf-Mother hesitated, her wound oozing white ichor as Aliz stood his ground.

There were several sharp cracking noises, and the Wolf-Mother crumpled, several iron bolts protruding from her many eyes. In the distance stood Bomtek and the other marksdwarves, accompanied by Kogarak. Aliz rushed to Dolan. The dwarf was breathing heavily.

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

"The Wolf-Mother is dead. Brace up. I'll bring you your mug." Aliz fetched Dolan's mug from the table and brought it to the dwarf where he lay on the stone floor. The mug was almost empty.

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

— Qwip 12:28, 14 May 2007 (EDT)

Rewolf31

(13 April 2007)

.B@.~~~

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

(21 July 2007)

,.,B@~,~,~

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

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

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

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

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

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

(12 September 2007)

++@a@+

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you win, daddy?" Coren asked.

"Ah, the tournament? Yes, sweet pod, there hasn't been a dwarf born yet that can beat your father," Alor looked at the puzzle box. "At least not at wrestling. And you know what else?"

"What else, daddy? What else?"

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

"Again?" Coren complained. "I want to meet your animal friends soon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

(18 September 2007)

,..|mBL@+++++++g+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Senso

(29 April 2007)

<+@?++&~~

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

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

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

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

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

Shanty

(30 June 2007)

@@+U@

Rogar spun again and again, staring into the darkness. The scraping had begun all at once and it seemed to come from every direction. Nothing could be seen beyond the limit of the flickering torchlight.

There! A shadow moved slowly out of the darkness. It had the stature of a dwarf, but Rogar knew the outpost had been abandoned for decades. After a moment, the warrior could see clearly. The shuffling thing had no flesh. The bones of its feet clacked and slid across the stones. The dead were walking in this place.

There were more, many more. Rogar was completely surrounded. He held up his sword and turned from threat to threat. The dwarves were unarmed, with tatters of cloth hanging over their skeletal remains. Bits of beard were still visible stuck around their garments and their skulls. The dead stopped short of Rogar's weapon and stood completely motionless. There was no way the warrior could pass without forcing his way through.

The skeleton he had seen first raised its bony hand slowly, curling all of its fingers save one into its palm. Its index finger pointed toward Rogar. From somewhere within its skull, it emitted a long, low moan which ended in a hiss and faded into silence.

Spelguru

(19 November 2006)

..@.M.~~~~...

The adventurer, transformed into a ghoul by strange forces, crawls toward the Everlasting River of Curing, barely clinging to his life, such as it had become. Suddenly, from the ceiling dropped... Adamantine Man! Is there any hope?!

(19 December 2006)

...M.~~~~..".
.....@~~~~...
...."~~~~~...

Adamantine Man spoke and said, "Unfortunate stranger! You wish to cast off your affliction? Drink then, and be blessed."

So the adventurer drank. The soothing warmth of the water spread from the center of his body, out to his deformed fingers and toes. Without pain, they shifted and were set in their proper places, along with the other marks of the affliction. All was well.

The adventurer looked at Adamantine Man in awe and asked, "I am grateful, Adamantine Man, for I had been without hope. For years unnumbered, my people have deemed the River unapproachable. 'Adamantine Man is there', they said, and yet, I have found naught here but a generous host and the cure to all that ailed me. Tell me Adamantine Man, why are you so feared? I am humbled by your graciousness, but am I truly free from danger?"

Adamantine Man spoke for a second time and said, "Indeed, be not afraid. Your people regard me with terror, for they do not understand me, and verily, who among you can understand Adamantine Man, who does not understand himself?"

The adventurer bowed his head and said, "It is true. Even now I am unsettled, for though you have granted me renewed life asking for nothing, still, even now, I wish to leave and never return."

Adamantine Man spoke for a third time and said, "So it has always been. Go now in peace."

The adventurer left without looking back. Overjoyed, his family accepted him, no longer an outcast, and soon all in the land had heard that he who had once been tainted was made whole by the River.

Some years later, a man, broken in body, came to the adventurer's abode. "I seek your aid, for it is said that you who were once tainted were made whole by the River. Tell me, where is the River, that I might be restored?"

The adventurer looked at the man, and he said, "Adamantine Man is there. Be content now, as I shall never be again." The man departed, and the adventurer remained.

(25 March 2007)

The adamantine man story ended.

@-***=.T

The Pulson-9000 seared the sky trailing ion-energized purple lightning. The XZ-Trollmech Mk7 didn't stand a chance. Another contract, another payment. Rogar was the last dwarf of his village, and after many hardships had fallen into the tough life of a mercenary warrior. He had stolen his first fighting bot, but after three years he had enough money to build and repair his own. He spent his offtime tinkering, which soothed his still-dwarven heart.

For now though, he was in enemy territory. True, the contract was complete, but he had fought his way deep into the personal citadel of the vile cyber-modded troll Vanquidor in order to blow his Mk7 body to pieces, and now he had to laze through the bodyguards and sentry droids he hadn't already obliterated. The dwarf had very little ordinance remaining. Rogar put on his shades. Things were about to get hot, but he was cool as a sonic-fan. Time to fire it up! Yeah!

SupSuper

(19 April 2007)

+R@%+@+%

"Hya! Hya!" Kogan screamed as he careened around the corner astride Lomrin. He had acquired the giant rat from the dungeon master for a vial of liquid fire. It had been a barrel of laughs, especially after a mug or three.

As they passed the foodpile, Lomrin stopped suddenly to inspect a large plump helmet biscuit. Kogan flew over the rat's ears and landed on his beard, sliding to a stop at a pair of black leather boots. Kogan waited a moment for his head to clear, and then he rolled back on his bottom and stared up at the face of Mul. It had to be Mul.

"On a bender again, are we Kogan?" Mul admonished.

"We? I swear I haven't given Lomrin a drop!" Kogan said indignantly.

"I wouldn't be so sure..." Mul said, indicating the food stockpile with a nod of his head.

Kogan turned his head. Lomrin had pried the lid off of a whisky barrel. Only her rear legs and tail were now visible.

"She takes after her uncle Kogan!" Kogan beamed proudly. Mul knocked him down to the ground with a push from his foot.

Syndlig

(18 May 2007)

oU++@@

The man struggled against the chains. The dwarves stared at him, smiling in satisfaction.

"That should ward you off our treasures, human. Be glad we don't send for the Hammerer."

The human scoffed. "Ha! I may be a thief, but at least I'm not a dwarf. See how I tower above you! I may not have a trade, I may not have any notable achievements whatsoever, but I am still a man."

The blackbearded dwarf turned to his companion. "You know, Mul, I suppose we could call for the Hammerer. The Baron will understand. After all, it was the Baron's goblet we found in his pack."

The dwarf named Mul considered this. "The Hammerer could certainly give him a new perspective on life. From two or three handspans lower down, at that. Start at the ankles, perhaps?"

"I always preferred the kneecaps, myself," the blackbearded dwarf said as they turned to leave. "It's really up to Rashok to decide though."

Mul hummed in disappointed affirmation. "Hmm, Rashok gets to have all the fun doesn't he?"

"Wait! Don't leave, my little friends!" the man screamed as the dwarves disappeared through the iron gate.

The blackbearded dwarf poked his head back into the dungeon. "We'll spare some whiskey, don't worry!" He disappeared again.

"Watered down, of course..." Mul could be heard saying as their footfalls faded away.

Termitehead

(4 November 2007)

%,.@.""k

The mighty warrior felt the power run through his arms as he held up his fallen enemy's sword. He laughed as the body beneath him oozed the last of its life into the dirt. It hadn't even been much of a challenge. It was as if the worthless cur just gave up his life for nothing. Now all he had to do was return the villain's sword to the king and claim the reward.

On his way back to the castle the warrior swung the sword around his head, singing cheerfully as he skipped along. A small quick hand darted from the branches above and snatched the sword from his grasp. The warrior yelled and searched the trees above for a glimpse of the thief. A pair of yellow eyes stared back at him. A kobold!

The Toad Preservation Society

Toady One and ThreeToe are continuously working on Dwarf Fortress since 4 years ago (well, when that was that written, in early 2007). On the same Idea, the Toad Preservation Society is trying to bring a very modest but continuous support. One result of this support is that ongoing series of art rewards. Slowly a story unfolds. Of course, the main target for the donation is not to get the reward, but to show the Bay12Games team that we love their project and value their effort. So let's consider each bit of that series as a nice present.

(11 October 2006)

.M.@$.

Deep in the fortress, a lava man springs an ambush on the treasurer, who is happily counting coins. Could this be the beginning of the end?!

--The Toad Preservation Society, 11 October 2006

(12 November 2006)

######.....M#~~~
@..@@@......M~~~
######..M%$.#~~~

Hammered and burnt by molten fists, the treasurer collapsed. That will teach him to count coins near the magma flow. More lava men erupt from the magma as a fortress patrol enters the room, one of them the treasurer's wife. Fighting back tears, she screams in wild rage as the soldiers charge the beasts. Will vengeance prevail this terrible day?!

--The Toad Preservation Society, 12 November 2006

(5 December 2006)

..=#  #############~~~# %
[@.#########.%-.%.#~~~#  '
.=..........@.-....~~~#,
############..@%-.#~~~####
   ` '###########.=====........##
 %    #############~~~####

Indeed, vengeance did prevail, though it was bought with the lives of soldiers. The Axedwarf Aloran, wife of the treasurer, grieves now over the charred body of her husband, her grief-stricken face shining red in the magma's light. Yet the lava men were only driven forth by rumors deep within the earth, ever rumbling now, ever approaching the lip of the glowing pit discovered by the miners not long after the bridging of the magma. The sound reached even the heart of the fortress, where Regukar the Mason has begun a mysterious construction. What fey mood has possessed Regukar?! Will Aloran's mourning be troubled by even greater dangers?!

--The Toad Preservation Society, 5 December 2006

(10 January 2007)

  ##.##
  #..=#  #############~~~# %
###[@.#########.%-.%.#~~~#  '
...@=.@..........-....~~~#,
###############...%-.#~~~########..
      ` '###########.=====....@.&.##
    %    #############~~~########..

A great crash echoed down the inward passageway.

"More beasts deeper in the mines?" said Narol fearfully, a recruit, the only member of the patrol save Aloran to survive. His right arm was burned horribly and he now held his axe in his left hand, weakly.

"Tell the Baron that lava men have entered the mines. I'll remain here." Aloran unmoving eyes stared over the bridge toward the mines. There would be no discussion. Narol stumbled up the opposite passage to the workshops.

Regukar was in the lower mason's shop, gazing into his hands, his face aglow with the light shining upward from his palms. The Baron was there as well.

"What is this? Did I not commission an obsidian throne? Why was this workshop built so near the magma flow if I'm to be seated on granite for the rest of my days?" The Baron sounded annoyed, but he was also trying to stare over Regukar's shoulder to see the treasure. The Baron reached for Regukar's wrist, and the mason turned violently and spat in the Baron's face just as Narol careened into the chamber.

"The Stout Wheels have held the bridge, but lava men are in the mines! Many are dead... Aloran is guarding the mine entrance alone..." Narol collapsed, breathing heavily.

-

Narol was gone, but Aloran did not notice. "I will kill them all," she said, and she walked down the bridge into the mines, leaving the bodies of her husband and the recruits behind. As she descended into the mines, the magma's light faded and she was engulfed by the dimness in which she had spent most of her life. Yet ahead she discerned an eerie glow. The miners had located these pits not long ago as they hunted for hematite. The lava men must be using them, accessing the mines away from the magma flow, Aloran thought, though she did not dwell on it long. Soon her mind was focused again on death.

Suddenly the light was blotted out, followed by a shaking that almost knocked Aloran from her feet. "COAH! So long I have waited for my master... only to find this sweet hairy dumpling. It must be time for the Great Feast." Aloran could discern its corpulence through the darkness. A lardy bloated creature, like those that made raids from the river, yet more grotesque, covered with translucent boils -- and many times larger. The thing croaked, "I sense... COAH! You have lost someone recently... your husband. Worry not, little dumpling! You will be reunited in my innards when I am done feeding."

Aloran did not speak. She would not entertain the creature -- she would have it dead.

--The Toad Preservation Society, 10 January 2007