ASCII art reward/M-S

ASCII Art Rewards (alphabetically by contributor)
A – F	G – L	M – S	T – Z

MacGyvers_Mullet

Rognar:(11 November 2007)

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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.

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)

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"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)

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"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)

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"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)

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"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)

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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)

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

From a high window, bright, mocking sunlight shone across the dark wooden throne and the troubled king that sat upon it. The old man reached for his cup, and after taking a sip, spat the vile dwarven 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)

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

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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.

Minion21g

(28 December 2008)

&||,g.g,gg....,.UU

Fiends pounded the trail, hunting Belmir and his thieving partner. The two had stolen into the dark goblin tower in the dead of night and taken the vial that held the demon king's essence. By destroying it, they could stop the war and put an end to the demon forever. Why destroy it, thought Belmir, when it obviously held so much value? He and Gal would be rich men. Or, he thought, looking at Gal with murderous intent, perhaps just me.

No Not The Bees

(29 December 2008)

.M%,..U.,

The lonely cottage stood underneath a great hill of snow that had been born of the great blizzard. Wind and sleet kept the pioneers indoors. That, and the promise of hated predators searching for meat in the frozen wastes. But as his family grew hungry, Fram knew that he must join the hunters outside.

Almost immediately Fram saw the danger. Bloody footprints of a great creature circled the cottage as if a monster sought a way inside. Grimly, Fram gripped his spear. He must persevere lest his family starve. He followed the monster's tracks away from his home as he pulled his furs tight against the freezing winds.

Ahead he saw a shape, a black mound against an ocean of white. Cautiously, Fram approached. It was the half eaten body of a black bear. But what could kill such a large beast. As if to answer, a monster loomed into sight, its body covered with long icicles. A blizzard man!

Scrollhaven

(28 December 2008)

""@,.UE,."

With one mighty swing, Alfonso knocked away the prone elf's sword and placed his boot on his wrist. Many moons had past since the vile creature had killed poor Jim and ate him. Even now the elf looked up in defiance. Finally, in these haunted woods far from home, vengeance would be served. Alfonso held the tip of his sword over the creature's heart, wondering vaguely if it had one.

"Back off, human," came a voice from behind, "this is my kill."

The human ranger turned to see a dwarf holding a crossbow. By the state of his boots and armor, Alfonso could tell the dwarf too, had been on a long quest. The elf saw its chance and snaked its way out from between the ranger's legs and was off into the brush in an instant. Alfonso cursed and charged after him, the dwarf close behind.

NobbZ

(16 February 2009)

@@$@,.~~@,..

The dwarven toughs stood around the curve in the corridor, taunting the dwarf lasses as they passed. A particularly vicious young dwarf fingered his crossbow as he saw a dwarf he knew.

"Hey, Moody," said a thug. "There's the dwarf that owes you that coin."

"Yes," said Moody, stepping up to the dwarf, pointing his weapon.

"You owe me," said Moody. "Hand over the purse."

"I don't have your money!" said the dwarf.

The dwarven outlaws piled onto the dwarf, beating him near to death.

"I'll be back," said the blood-soaked dwarf over his shoulder as he ran. "I'll be back!"

"You're never coming back coward!" shouted Moody.

Shzar

(July 16 2008)

&D###ggggggg,.|@@

The demon king rode high on his dragon as his vast army assaulted the dwarf fortress below. Catapults smashed the battlements with huge balls of fire. Bolts and arrows filled the air in a deadly exchange of fire. Armored trolls ran into the stone gates, smashing into the rock and sending shards flying. Not one space above ground was safe.

"How could it come to this?" cried Durkan, hands over his ears.

"Courage," said the warrior dwarf Glamsfir.

Pebbles fell from the ceiling as another bombardment rocked the fortress. Glamsfir stood and peered out of an archery portal. The situation was fatal. He lifted his crossbow and put down a goblin archer in an act of defiance, though it mattered little.

"We have not long to live," said Durkan, "do we Glamsy?"

"I told you not to call me that," said the dwarf hero.

Meto

(9th December, 2009)

UUUU/UU/U#+!++@@@@

Dwarves hurled boulders down on the invaders as they advanced by ladder. Sharkra smiled, for this meant they had run out of ammunition for their war machines. She dodged out of the way as a human invader plunged down past her to a rocky doom. Sharkra grimaced. Machines or not, these dwarves would fight the death to save their blasted mountain. At last she reached the battlements.

Battle master Sharkra was an evil genius of combat. It was rumored she had sacrificed everything she loved for riches and lost it all gambling the same night. Her very aura smelled of the underworld. Now she soldiered for anyone who would pay her. Pay her and her elite troop of mercenaries, the Unholy Band. This time is was rat-lord Gomra that hired her.

Sharkra pulled herself onto the fortress wall. Members of the Unholy Band leapt over the battlements, light on their feet. Together they advanced on the dwarves. Sharkra wielded a giant mace, while the Band pulled rapiers from polished sheaths.

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

Something sailed through the air and struck Sharkra in the face, a glass flask filled with fuming liquid. The glass shattered sending pain coursing through the evil woman's body. She put her hand to her face and it came back covered in slime. She straightened up and looked around. The Unholy Band was laughing at her. Sadly, this wasn't the first time.

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

The vain and evil Sharkra pulled a mirror from her pack which she carried at all times. Her face was never much to begin with, but now it was utterly ruined. Gomra, thought Sharkra, it is all his fault. The warrior woman whistled and the Unholy Band followed her as she retreated from the fortress.

"It is said," intoned dwarf captain Duzelm, "that evil shall always turn upon itself."

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

"We shall follow this villain back to Lord Gomra," said Duzelm "and catch all the rats in the same trap. Go to the humans in Gelthtown, they have the quick steeds we require."

Before the day was through, the men of Gelthtown had assembled the horses, along with master rider Jorna. She was blond and lean, draped in the leathers of a Gelthtown tracker. The dwarves climbed onto the horses and strapped themselves in.

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

Jorna laughed. "Just pray I don't reach Gomra before Sharkra does," she said.

Schmi

(16th March, 2010)

EHEHEHEHEHE#####||@+@@@@+||==O|TTTOTTO+>

Magic flying horses galloped through the sky carrying the elf warriors on bolts of enchanted lightning. It was war, oh war, that brought the warriors hence. The evil dwarf fighter stood atop the tower of the dwarf fortress waiting for them to come. In his arsenal were a dozen flame-throwing catapults ready to spring into action. Giant trolls dragged the ammunition up from the mines. The dwarf raised his hand. A hundred marksdwarves aimed their crossbows. Rainbows filled the sky as the elves approached. With a final snort, the dwarf let his hand drop.

(23 April, 2010)

~~/~~U~~~~

When it was over, not a good thing lived. With the failure of the sacred band all hope was lost. The trees of the forest were swept from the earth, and those luckless beings that lived were enslaved to the evil dwarf fortress. The dwarves delved deep into the earth and released onto it, the horrors of the underworld. Fed up with the world, the gods turned their back on it, leaving only Armok, the blood god, to rule alone.

Peasant farmer Alan heard a whistling noise from above and turned his head to the blood red sky. He leapt to the side as a huge broadsword landed at his feet. Alan scratched his head. The gods ask too much, he thought. All of his ancestors had fought and died in elongated wars. What can he give but his weak life?

Robert 'Brightgalrs' Schultz

(31 June 2010)

,.Wk,.. //####||@++>||###

No lock was safe from the kobold master thief, Macabis. The last year he broke into the thick-walled castle Varnus. And only two weeks ago he had robbed the goblin dungeon under the Blood Mountain. But Macabis shared the failings of all of his kind. For to a kobolds there was no difference between a rough diamond and a piece of shattered glass.

"You, go here," said the wizard, pointing at a map scrawled in the dirt.

"Bring me this." The wizard produced from his robes a metal cup. The kobold blinked, its yellow eyes seemed to search for meaning and quickly gave up. The wizard reached into his other sleeve and produced a drinking horn. The kobold screeched and grabbed it with both hands. The humans always had the best drink. Macabis knew what the scratchings on the cup meant. It was the dwarf fortress of Antguard. He yanked away the horn and slung it over his back. There would be many more such drinks once the wizard had his cup.

Aliz still felt a little queasy as the sun broke over the mountains. He had been on tower duty for two months, punishment for staring too long at the beautiful queen. Had they only know the true subject of his avarice. It was the artifact cup from which she drank. It had the power to make any liquid taste like the finest wine. As he daydreamed, a shadow passed under the castle gate.

markpank

(27 November 2010)

,""."".,UU,..,."",."||W+++||

Power. That was all that mattered. Evil wizard Marcon commanded a legion of vampires and all manner of night creatures. It was the daylight that was his greatest weakness. When all his creatures crawled back into their graves, there he was, nothing but a lonely old man in a crumbling tower. The peasants of the village knew to stay away from the ugly building. It was rumored you could see a mournful eye staring out of the highest window, resenting all that lived.

Young page Allen took the hand of his best girl Mandy and raced through the dawn village on a lover's tryst.

"Where are we going, my love?" asked Mandy.

"To Marcon tower," said the boy. "They will never look for us there."

"No!" cried Mandy. "A thousand times no! That place is haunted."

"What's a matter Mandy?" mocked Allen. "Are you afraid of the bogeyman?"

(18 December 2010)

,.||>W>+UU||,.

Shafts of light from the failing sun shone through the high windows and fell on the lovers as they lay on the grassy floor. As Allen looked up at the inside of the crumbling building, he did so with the eyes of a boy who knew he was now a man. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled. Night was falling. Not even Allen was stupid enough to stay in Marcon tower after dark. He tried to sit up, but Mandy lay across his arm and would not stir.

With wondrous motion the tower began to transform. Torches appeared on the walls. Cold stones replaced the grass on which Allen lay. Planks of wood sprouted from the walls and unfolded into a great spiral stairway. Chill gripped Allen's heart as he heard steps resounding down the stair. He tried to pull his hand free but Mandy lay still and cold to the touch. With horror, the young man watched as the wizard descended, cloaked and menacing.

"All hope is for naught," said the wizard. "The fruit of your deed is death eternal."

(06 January 2011)

,.,||U*+++=U=++||,.,o,.,.

Mandy rose from her place with the jerking movement of a marionette. Allen cried out and crawled backward across the floor. Naked, he ran from the tower, the wizard's evil laughter ringing in his ears. He ran in fear, faster even than the bogeymen the wizard sent to chase him. Finally, his body cut up, bleeding, and exhausted, he collapsed on the steps of the temple.

"I pity you Allen," said the priest, "for it takes such a disaster to bring you to the temple of Domon."

The boy cried and told his tale of terror and woe. The priest shook his head and told him there was little hope for Mandy now. He handed Allen a small gem -- the Eye of Domon. It was said to pierce all darkness.

"You must return to the tower tonight," said the priest, "lest Mandy fall forever."

That night, Marcon was preparing for the ceremony, giggling like a little girl. Mandy was laid out before him on a stone slab. Just as he raised the dagger for the death stroke, Allen kicked in the door. Marcon made to spit out a curse when the boy raised up the Eye of Domon. With a shriek, Marcon transformed into a barn owl and escaped through the open ceiling.

(02 April 2011)

|++UuU++++U|N.,.

"There is nothing we can do for her but wait," said the priest.

Allen paced the length of the church, stealing glimpses of Mandy's body splayed out on the altar. He remembered the wizard's curse. His hand gripped the jewel as he prayed to Domon for mercy. Mandy cried out. The priest put his hands on the girl's body and forced her down.

Allen's eyes went to the windows where candles flickered and went out.

"This girl is with child," growled the priest. "Where is the father?"

A knock came at the door. Allen looked to the priest, eyes wild with fear. "Go," said the priest, turning back to the writhing girl. The frightened boy picked up a torch and made his way to the front of the darkened church. Behind him, the girl was screaming between gurgling coughs. He dare not look now.

The door swung open to reveal a terrible phantom. It wore a tattered black robe and its head was a bare skull. "My master Marcon has sent me to take what is his," it said. Allen was paralyzed with fear. The girl's screams had stopped. Allen turned to see the priest, covered in blood. In his hands he held a baby, squirming and alive, but silent as death itself.

(14 November 2011)

,.U/|++++U|.

The air was still, and not an insect stirred in the cursed village. It was here that evil was born, and it was here evil would die. Sir Ramet looked to the most pathetic cottage and made his way to the door. When no one answered, he knocked the door off its hinges with a blow from his hammer.

He walked through a cloud of dust to see the body of a white haired old man, half starved to death. Ramet put his foot on the man's shoulder and jostled the body. It was then that he saw that it was not a man, but a boy, his hair as white as snow.

"Allen?" said Ramet. "Know that your treason has cause many a soldier to lose his life, and while your son walks the earth, no one is safe."

"Son?" said Allen to the darkness. "I have a son? My poor Mandy."

Ramet lifted his hammer and Allen seemed suddenly to come to life.

"Wait!" shouted the wretch. "I hold something which is your only salvation."

The knight watched as Allen held up a small jewel.

"The Eye of Domon?" asked Ramet, unbelieving.

The two left the cottage and turned toward Marcon's tower. The crumbling building cast a shadow across the village, the sun hiding behind its upper reaches. It was deserted, but both men knew what would happen after sundown, only a few short hours away.

(14 December 2011)

U,.,.,.||U/++Ui++||

Once they reached the ruined tower, Ramet reached under his cloak, behind his ample belly and drew a short, thick sword. He bid Allen come closer and took the Eye from him. There was a socket in the hilt of the blade and the knight drove the jewel home. A flash of light blinded the two men briefly and when he opened his eyes, Allen saw Ramet holding the glowing sword before him.

"Behold," shouted Ramet. "This is a weapon of Domon. Take it! For the seed you have spilled now soils the land, and you must put it to right."

Allen touched the sword as the last rays of sunshine faded from behind the hills. Once again, Marcon's tower rebuilt itself. Bats flew out from the top as all manner of groans and scrapings came from inside. Allen's courage failed him and he turned to run. Ramet put his hand on the boy's chest and pushed him back.

"Forget all that," said the knight. "It is time you understood the consequences of your actions. I didn't loose the demon. You did. Take the sword, go in there, and slay the monster."

The sword of Domon trembled in Allen's shaking hand as he opened the door to the tower. Calling on all his force of will, he stepped inside. It was dark save for a single candle resting on the floor. Beside it knelt a person in a dark colored robe. Silently, Allen stepped up behind and pulled back the hood of the robe with the tip of his sword.

"Mandy?" he said.

(02 February 2012)

U<<<U####/##o##

"I could be Mandy to you," said the girl, rising from the floor.

Allen's sword fell to his side, a tear rolling down his cheek. The dark creature brushed the white hair away from his face. The shadows dancing around began to take physical shape. Allen put his arm around the girl. The world began to spin. In his mind he could see ghostly armies marching across the land. His lips touched hers.

"That thing is your daughter!" cried Ramet. "Kill it!"

With a jerk, Allen drove his sword through the girl's ribs. The creature screamed. Red gas shot from its mouth and eyes. Allen backed away, disgusted and horrified. Ramet caught Allen in his arms as the building shook and swayed. Then, all went silent, all but Marcon's laughter.

"This villain has lived long enough," spit Ramet.

Up and Up the knight ran, bounding three steps at a time. Marcon spotted him and quit his laughter quick. A pair of shadow demons rose from the floor, but Ramet barreled straight through them and met Marcon at the roof of the tower.

"I don't suppose you would stab an opponent in the back?" asked Marcon.

The wizard turned and leapt from the tower, transforming into an owl. The knight threw his war hammer with all his might. It struck the bird in an explosion of feathers. Marcon's lifeless body spiraled slowly down to the earth.

When Ramet reached the bottom of the stairs, Allen was on his knees, staring at the floor. The knight lifted him up, leaned close and spoke to him.

"Listen," said Ramet. "We have something Marcon and your poor Mandy don't have. A future."

(25 November 2012)

+@+@%++++######?

Down beneath the earth, where they never see the sun, there live a people pale and hairy. The ‘deep dwarves’ they are called, and their metropolises stretch for leagues under the root of the mountain. Rarely do they come in contact with the surface dwarves and it is not without cause that they have gained the reputation for being a little strange.

“Come and see this,” said a guards-dwarf.

Annoyed, Captain Kogar put down his pipe and stood up, brushing the ashes from his broad belly. He followed the dwarf through a series of twisting tunnels down, down to the bottom of the mine. What could it possibly be? The castle guard knew better than disturb him over petty things. Maybe it was another murder. But berserker season had already come and gone.

“Here he is,” said the guard.

At the end of the farthest tunnel, the body of a dwarf lay, as white as a sheet.

“Is he dead?” asked Kogar.

“Ask him yourself,” said the guard.

Kogar leaned down and put his ear to the pale dwarf’s lips.

“You must flee to where the sun is bright,” said deep dwarf. “For no one under the ground is safe while the monster draws breath.”

(28 January 2013)

?N?   ++++++@+@||

With that the strange dwarf died. Captain Kogar called for his lieutenants. Together they searched the mine from whence the deep dwarf came. Any opening to the underworld, no matter how small, could prove the end for even the mightiest of fortresses. After a week of searching, nothing could be found.

“Maybe the dwarf was crazed,” said a deputy. “Maybe there is no monster.”

“No,” said Kogar, “this is going to be a bad one.”

That very night, the first dwarf went missing. The creature left nothing but a dark stain on the floor. Kogar’s dwarves searched the mines again and again, but no opening could be found. When the next victim disappeared, Kogar knew he had to tell his liege, Merduk the Mad.

“What is this nonsense you speak of?” asked the mad king.

“The mine monster kills at will,” said Kogar. “We must think of sending the young ones to the surface.”

“Fool,” shouted the king, slamming his fist onto the arm of his throne. “No dwarf with come in or out until the monster is slain. Their deaths will be yours to decide.”

suntorvic

(13th December, 2010)

s,.s.C,..@,.,//%%%%%

Dwarf hero Ulkram walked right up to the cyclops's lair. It was a shabby place, just a cave under a grassy hill. Here and there, stray sheep wandered hither and fro, nibbling on the wet grass. Not a stranger to herohood, Ulkram barged inside, axe held high. Inside, he was met with all manner of foul smells. Dwarven skins lined the walls and on the floor was a pile of bearded skulls. Ulkram was rendered senseless by the unimaginable evil. He went outside to wretch.

"My home is not to your liking?" came a deep voice.

The cyclops was enormous. In its mighty fist was a shepherd's cane. The monster dropped to one knee. Ulkram could barely keep his axe steady.

"Tell you what," said the monster. "How about we play a game? You ask me what I'm thinking, then I you. If I can't answer, I let you go. If you can't answer, you go in my pot. Agreed?"

Having no other choice, Ulkran nodded his head in agreement.

Sowelu

(6 January 2011)

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Like wild banshees, the calls of the coyotes went on all night, disturbing the dwarf outpost and all within. Watch-dwarf Aliz took up his torch and scaled the stairs of the wooden tower that stood at the gatehouse of their wooden palisade. Nothing. Nothing, but the hated forest that stood upon the rolling hills on which their wooden fortress sat. It was risky to mine out in the wilderness, away from the mountains. But without risk there is no profit, and danger is its own reward.

They kept sheep behind that wooden fence. Nali could smell them. The short hairy man things look easy enough to outrun, but they were like men, they would have weapons, and fire. But Nali's charge were hungry. A coyote nipped at Nali's hairy leg. Nali tussled the coyote's head. It would be tonight.

The coyotes howled from the woods in front of the gate whilst Nali made his way around the back of the fortress, clutching a pair of spears. When he reached the darkest spot, he wedged a spear against the wall and used it to lift himself over the side. He made his way carefully past the drunken dwarven guards to the place where the sheep were penned. Just as he was about to open the gate, he froze.

"Coyote man!"

Narushima

(06 February 2011)

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"Tosid, Aliz, and Sedil watched with anticipation as the workers chiseled through layer after layer of raw adamantine. The dwarves had long imagined this moment, a reality of eternal wealth. There was a scream, then another. The mineral vein on which they were mining fell away into darkness.

Aliz awoke in the manager's barracks. It had all been a dream, but his hands were wet. He hopped off the top bunk and slid on a puddle of liquid. It was blood. He stood up to see Tosid in the bottom bunk, stone dead.

"Could I have done this in my sleep?" thought Aliz. "But I was just at the mining ceremony. Where is Sedil? First things first. Where do I hide the body?"

Psitaylor

(2 April 2011)

,|++++|@,.U.,.T,.,.

The footstep of doom fell hard on Tiger Valley. Many of the elves and dwarves that lived there peaceably watched with horror as Mount Ugath erupted. Clouds of purple fog flowed down the sides of the mountain and engulfed the valley. In a few days the dust settled. No one thought anything was the worse for wear. Not at first.

"The Valley of the Waking Dead?" asked the poacher. "Aye, you are headed in the right direction. Tiger Valley they once called it. But you don't want to go that way boy."

The young man thanked the grizzled hunter and went on his way. Casser was the eldest son of King Darek. With all his younger brothers beginning to cast their eyes on his aging father's throne, Casser knew he had to prove his worth as a hero.

The entrance to the valley was a steep cliff following a tumbling stream. Prince Casser bid his page return his horse to the castle and descended into the valley alone. When he reached the bottom, he looked up to see the green, glowing trees in the bright sun. There was not a sound in the whole valley.

At long last he found the village. The fields were neatly kept, but there was no animal in sight. Not one living being. Casser moved to one of the thatch-roofed huts. He put his gauntlet to the door and it swung open. Inside the furniture was all in order. Dinner places were set at the table.

There was no food. No people. Casser was taken by a sudden hunger. He looked in his pack and found it empty. His servant had forgotten to fill it. He grew angry, but his frustration vanished when he spied it. An apple hung low on a tree just outside the house. He emerged from the cabin and reached out for the fruit.

"Don't do it," said a voice from deeper in the village.

Casser looked to see a dwarf girl, strangely glowing with some fell light. Casser brought the apple away from his lips and spat. What had happened to this place? He looked away from the strange phantom and up at the mountain. It was said a dragon lived there.

"Had you taken one bite of that apple, you would be ‘stone dead' as you humans are fond of saying," said the dwarf. "Not now. Not days from now. But soon. This whole valley is poisoned. Its only inhabitants are the dead. You must save us."

The prince retreated as the girl approached. Other spirits began to appear from the houses.

"You must kill the dragon," she said, "and end the curse. You have no choice. You have already breathed the air of the valley. Your fate is sealed, along with all of ours."

Running back toward the waterfall, Casser knew he had failed the test of manhood. He climbed and climbed, not stopping till he breathed the sweet air of the real world. One of the lord's squires was there. "That didn't take very long," said the smart ass. "The underworld must not sire demons like it used to."

On the ride home, Casser felt an itch under his gauntlet. He removed the metal glove and found his hand red and inflamed. He poked at his blackened fingernail and it fell away. Underneath was a thin, razor-like talon. Casser gagged into his mouth, a tear falling from his eye.

"Problem, sire?" asked the squire.

They rode in silence to Red Castle, where King Darek awaited them.

mux951

(13 June 2011)

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Night and day were the same, months of black darkness, punctuated by jets of fire from the many wingless dragons that crawled in the valley below. Goblins were everywhere, picking off careless dwarfs with well-placed arrows. One dwarf remarked that it was like living each waking moment in the shadow of the hammerer.

Alnar was not one to give up so easily. He vowed, though only a blacksmith's apprentice, to save the fortress singlehandedly. He would build a tube from the lip of the volcano to the goblin horde and fry them forever. If only he had the king's permission. Best to ask later.

(04 December 2011)

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As the enemy surrounded the fortress and all seemed lost, the dwarven king did an inexplicable thing by granting an audience to a lone idiot dwarf. A pair of royal guards dragged Alnar into the feast hall. His eyes were blackened as the guards had beaten him up a taste for his insolence. They dumped him before the king and he sneezed, spraying blood onto the king's slipper.

"Speak," hissed the king.

Alnar crawled to the side of the throne and pulled away a plain white sheet revealing a crimson handled lever.

"One pull of this lever and you will unleash the fury of Red Mountain," said Alnar, "and bathe the enemy in a lake of fire."

"You did this without my knowledge or consent?" asked the king.

Alnar swallowed and slowly nodded his head.

"Lock him in his quarters," said the king, "to await the hammerer."

As he heard the lock slide in, Alnar walked to the corner of his tiny room. Silently, he slid his cabinet away from the wall, revealing a second red lever.

(04 March 2012)

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Out of ammunition, the dwarves were reduced to hurling rocks at the invaders now scaling the walls. The king locked himself in the throne room, forbidding all disturbances. Try as he might, he could think of no solution to the mess he was in. Always he found his eyes drawn to the lever. Maybe the crazed dwarf was right.

No, thought the king. No dwarf would make a fool of the king. He seized the lever and ripped the whole mechanism from the floor in a frenzied rage. A messenger ran into the room, finding the king wheezing, spittle dripping from his beard.

"I know you ordered no disturbances," said the page, "but someone has released the fire of Red Mountain!"

The king trotted up the stairs of the tower, his lungs burning. Once at the top, he saw a sight like no other. Rivers of molten rock flowed from the mountain, burying the invaders or sending them running, on fire.

"An outrage," spat the king. "I will have that traitor Alnar skinned alive."

Met

(June 2011)

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

--

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

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

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

(July 2011)

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

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

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

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

(October 2011)

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

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

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

Fuglin looked down, having until now forgotten the adamantine in his hand.

Rhazak

(19 July 2011)

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Terror! Badru cried defiantly as he was shaved. The evil dwarves held Badru down as dwarven bandit lord Ukros worked his knife against the victim's beard.

"You look better this way, Badru," said Lord Ukros. "More like an elf."

The villain left Badru upon the hillside in the shadow of the dwarf fortress. He was sore and beaten, and his leg was most likely broken. The guards were sure to find him soon. He pulled his scarf up to his nose. The sign of his shame couldn't be seen by his underlings.

"What happened to you, Badru?" asked the king. "And why are you wearing that ridiculous mask?"

Badru withdrew the mask from his shaven face and the guard holding him cried out and dropped the dwarven hero to the floor.

(11 August 2011)

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"They are no more dwarf than you," said Badru's woman. "They may have beards it's true, but they live outdoors, squatting in the grass like rabbits. You will find them, and return them to the hammerer, dead or alive."

Metal clanked against stone as Badru rose. His limb was now more machine than leg. He scratched at the bristling hairs of his chin. From the wall, he took his trusty axe. As he walked from the room, his woman embraced him from behind. "Kill them," she said. "Kill them all."

Badru strode before the recruits, his metal leg creaking, a scarf over his mouth. "Alright daisies," he said. "Our target is a worthless bandit named Ukros. If you see him, leave him be. That elf-spawned toadstool is mine."

Molay

(25 December 2011)

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The miners sat in a circle around the lava well, dipping bits of bread into a bowl of melted dwarven cheese. It was the end of the year, so Aliz stood up and announced that he would make the first prediction. He said that in the next year the war would be over and the dwarves would all come home. Then the miners would strike adamantine, with Nictat taking the first chunk.

Smiling, Nictat rose and looked over the glad faces of his friends. He said that in the coming year old king Ironboot would die and be replaced by his beautiful daughter. All rations would be doubled, and all the prisoners set free.

Something moved in the shadows. The dwarves looked around anxiously. Aliz let out a sigh. It was only poor goblin Dusna.

"I have a prediction for you," said Dusna. "Not but one of us in this room will live to see the coming year."

Malimbar04

(2 March 2012)

"TUe,,.,-,.,g"

"What are you doing?" asked Sarvesh.

"Giving my thanks to the trees," said Alan. "Isn't that what you people do?"

Sarvesh would never understand her new human friend. Why did he want to be like the elves? Elves have been talking to trees as long as Sarvesh could remember, and they never talked back. She flipped an apple into the air, but before she could catch it, an arrow struck it to a tree.

"Goblins!" cried Sarvesh.

(8 September 2012)

"g\U,.,.e,.,,.-g

Alan came up from his knees and cut down a charging goblin with one swing of his sabre. Sarvesh dodged out of the way of a second arrow and readied her bow. She fired blind into the woods, praying to the spirit of the forest to guide her arrow. A strangled gasp echoed from the darkness. It was over.

"We live," said Sarvesh.

"Maybe now is the time to thank the trees," said Alan.

The elf warrioress walked straight by Alan and looked at the dead body. The armor bore the twisted mark of Darquan the snake lord. It had been many centuries since the evil one had shown his face in these parts.

Sarvesh tried in vain to remember the old days, the bad old days before she met Alan and their adventures began. There was a time when the sun didn't shine, when life itself hung on a thread. So it was when Darquan ruled the world. If he had come back, he must be stopped immediately.

"Come," said Sarvesh, "we must track them back to their nest."

"At last," said Alan. "Fate has grated us a quest."

PereGarrett

(25 April 2012)

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"Put him in the fiery pit," said Mabdug the Mad.

Following the king's orders like obedient slaves, the guardsdwarves dragged the victim to the flaming orifice. It was a square opening at the base of the throne, surrounded by engravings of forest creatures. Down through the hole was a huge cavern, a lake of magma under its dome. As the prisoner disappeared in a puff of smoke the king clapped his hands together like a gleeful child. He should enjoy himself, for he didn't have too much more time on earth.

"It's going down tonight," said Gekur. "Mabdug is going to the pit."

"Imagine a royal guard talking that way," said Oltar. "You could go to the hammerer for that."

Gekur embraced his brother in arms. They had served in the royal guard together for the reign of three kings. Mabdug was by far the worst. The senseless killings were only a minor thing compared to the rest. The kingdom was nearly bankrupt due to his wild parties. The goblins sensed his weakness as was their knack and were spoiling for war. But it was fate of the Ermis boy that moved the guardsdwarves most.

"My poor son," said father Ermis. "You must have a tomb for him."

"The place is picked out for furniture storage," said Mabdug. "You will have to bury him in the dirt."

"But without proper burial," pleaded the father, "he will never be forged anew."

The king laughed, "Take him away."

Markous

(28 April 2012)

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Fear loosened all dignity as the dwarves fled the burning fortress. But while they escaped the fiends of the underworld, freed by hapless miners, they now had to deal with the vile force of evil which awaited them in the world under the sun.

Darkmaster the Evil brought his halberd down onto the dwarven knight's mule. The bearded hero hit the ground at a roll and came up with a knife, cutting a gash out of the evil ruler's breastplate. The battle all around became silent as the fighters circled. None would interfere, for now it was a matter of honor.

pingeee

30 September 2012

g@gg@@@gg@g~~~%~@!@~~~gg@@g@gg@@

How is it, when all hope is lost, that the best of us continue to endure? So it was that the knights of Amador stood strong against the force of overwhelming odds. As the horde of a hundred thousand goblins belched forth from the underworld and town after town fell, only the dwarves of Amador stood before the dwarf fortress and against the armies of evil.

"Booze," whimpered the fallen knight. "Give me booze."

Dworn slid down next to his comrade as the battle raged all around. The knight was dying, struck through the gut with a spear. The goblin that killed him lay a short way away in a bloody mess. Dworn held his wine flask up to the knight's lips, who was dead before he took his first sip.

"How did I end up here?" asked Dworn, as all around, the dwarves and goblins fought and died.

It was a full year before the war that Dworn signed on as a knight's squire. Those were the good days, the days before Morduk the Mad. Dworn didn't mind the rigors of military life, industrious as any dwarf. Happily he served the king and the mountain home. Time would test him, just as it tests all things under the eternal sky.

"Excellent," said Alek. "Are you really a knight's squire?"

For a fortnight, Sir Kamag had lent Dworn to the marks-dwarves to build up his archery skills. Every dwarf should learn the ins and outs of a crossbow. Or so his master Kamag claimed. Dworn hit every target at fifty paces. Alek was so pleased, he offered Dworn a job. But Dworn was pledged to his master.

"Do you really think Morduk will invade?" asked Dworn.

"They call him Morduk the Mad for a reason," said Kamag, putting a hand on Dworn's shoulder. "Come. Let's not talk of such things."