40d:Stories

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

You don't want to go to the desert^DF

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

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

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

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

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

The lonely mason^DF

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

STOP PRESS: Strange Rumblings in Newhomes of Water^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Channel Digger^DF

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

Sweet Likotasen's Baadasssss Song^DF

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

The named Mug^DF

One day Mebzuth ezumkebon locked himself in his craftdwarfs workshop and demanded lot's of stone. 6 stones. after only 5 minutes he came out with his newly created mug with the name Gimtishis. Waste of the stone...

Rimrise's Tragedies^DF

Rimrise. A dwarven settlement on a savannah. The heat was almost unbearable for the dwarves in summer, and so they worked hard to build their underground haven in the cool soil. There, they found much mineral wealth - iron, hematite and magnetite in droves. They hollowed out living spaces. They planted farms. They hunted the bounty of the savannah. Rimrise was going to survive. By the autumn, they had many skilled dwarves, the labor was finally getting done, but there was always more to do. Always.

Hence, it came as a bit of a surprise when one dwarf's eyes suddenly lit up. A blacksmith by trade, he had been pounding out iron bolts and weaponry for the new four-strong militia to use when he was struck by some sort of inspiration. Straight from the fey, the leader called it. He seized the outpost's only forge, and began to work furiously. He widthdrew from society, becoming secretive. The only thing he knew was to work. He never said a word to anybody. Metal bar after metal bar he brought inside. Then he stopped. To those that came by he desperately sketched pictures of stacked cloth. The dwarves brought him cloth and cloth aplenty, dyed and not, from caravan, silk and rope reed, but all were rejected. Soon his sketches of cloth filled the blacksmith's shop, and that spark of inspiration in his eyes faded to melancholy as he could not find what he needed.

The dwarves kept trying. For month after month he remained cooped within that cramped workspace, sketching his ideas madly. Nothing was good enough. They thought perhaps he might need silk, but the elven caravan was gone and they had only traded for a single stack - not enough for the widthdrawn dwarf. When they finally told him that they didn't think they could get what he needed... something finally snapped within him. He rose up and charged around the workshops, straight up the stairs to the scorching hot surface after the sheriff, who remained blissfully unaware. While he was a skilled combat dwarf, the sheriff was schooled in marksmanship and shieldplay, not close combat. The strong hands of the blacksmith eventually overpowered him. On the stairs, he fell, slewn by another dwarf's bare hands.

The insane dwarf charged back down the stairs as the dwarves laboring under the hot sun on the surface took pause and screamed as they realized one of their most trusted members of the community was dead. Surprising a peasant on the lower level, which was still under construction, the dwarf took a mighty swing at him. His chest was pummeled again and again, until a rib broke free and finally speared his heart. The peasant slumped, lifeless.

Next came a dog, who struggled valiantly to no avail - nothing could stand in the way of this dwarf's steely, rough hands. A donkey foal was found easy prey. And finally, there came a miner, laboring away. He was heading to the mason's workshop, engraving the walls as he went in between mining duties. He saw the blacksmith's blood-drenched hands, and knew immediately what he had to do. His pick raised, crashed down, once, twice, three times. The insane blacksmith was mercifully no more.

Screams came from the surface, and in the chaos the militia stepped in. Soon they realized what had happened. The poor blacksmith, the two pets, the sheriff and peasant were all buried with full Dwarf honors, all victims of something that nobody could have prevented. Rimrise was left without a sheriff. Another was quickly appointed from the militia, one schooled heavily in unarmed combat. And just in time - other dwarves had lost their pets. One, in fact, one Kol Ozzereg, a fishery worker, had lost her precious dog. That dog was the only thing that had kept her from going insane, she said. Upon discovering his broken body, she buried him - and returned to her room to sob. The expedition leader tried to comfort her, to no avail - he was a mechanic, and only a novice in the speaking arts. Soon her sorrow turned to rage, and she toppled the local fishery on the surface - before starting a fistfight with a dwarf who was unluckily enough in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The sheriff responded alarmingly quickly, and seeing no other choice, tackled Kol to the ground. Blows rained down upon her. When it was over, her pelvis was nearly broken and her lower spine would be bruised for life. She received no prison term, however, since cages were few and far between and no metal ones had yet been made. She was dragged back to her bed, where she still rests for months on end - the fortress herbalists fear she may never walk the same. At last, however, she has forgotten about her poor dog.

Another mood. This time, a mug was made - the most beautiful mug that any dwarf in the fortress had ever seen. Made of native platinum, with images of laboring dwarves all along it, stubs of dolomite stuck out of it at all edges, a testament to fine dwarven craftsmanship. Such an expensive artifact attracted the wrong kind of attention, and soon thieves and snatchers were everywhere - the militia grew apace with them.

And alas, tragedy struck once again. The dwarf hamlet's oldest and wisest and most skilled miner was taken by a mood that none could predict. Once again, they could not satisfy his demands. Once again, they fear he will go insane.

This time, the militia was there. If he were to go insane, they would end his suffering in the true Dwarven manner. Better to be dead than insane. That, however, did not make it any easier for the brave dwarves who must end their comrade's life.

Some would say fortunately, his passing out of this world was not a violent one. He became melancholy and depressed, and took his own life. He was greatly missed by his compatriots, and was buried as a hero.

The fortress would have further posthumous heroes very soon.

A goblin ambush. Lashers and a spearman - five in total. They ambushed and slaughtered a woodsman, and then a hunter. Even his martial trance was unable to stop the goblins. Even as he sent bolts flying into the goblin ranks in every direction as they closed in on him, he was unable to stop them. They dragged him to the ground and a spear pierced his brain. He died a hero. Two of their strongest dwarves were now dead, and the fortress had no choice. Every single squad was drafted into one massive militia and readied. The defenses were readied, the main stairs sealed off with hatches, the barracks isolated and the bridges widthdrawn. The dwarves widthdrew inside, but even as they busily made preparations, the evil group crept through the bridges before they had a chance to retract them. A poor recruit was ambushed. His axe sang and danced through the goblin ranks like a warrior twice his age, beard, and skill, but he was dragged down and knocked unconcious. His blood stained the bridge where the dwarves fought valiantly, but even their touching display of valor could not save him. He died of exanguination as the battle was fought. A baby slipped from it's mother's screaming arms as she ran indoors, and drowned in the moat.

The dwarves had had enough. One of the marksmen, the most skilled one in the fortress, ran straight into the tiny horde of goblins and sent bolts ricocheting in every direction. Lasher after lasher fell, and he stood a wounded hero in the end, an elite marksdwarf. The fortress was saved, but they had lost a dog and three dwarves - the goblins had only lost five goblins. A horrible price.

Rumors circulate amongst the dwarves. Some think this site is cursed... That the strange moods that dwarves enter and never return to sanity are just the first step, the goblins the second, and something terrible the third and final event which will cripple the fortress before it could ever really become a fortress. Only time will tell...

Goblins from hell raiding Rocksbowed^DF

This new fort of mine is a real piece of work! It has all the features (for now) it should have. On top of a high cliff facing some woodlands stands the keep of "Rocksbowed", a smaller fort with defensive towers and an elevated drawbridge. The walls are thick and the drawbridge is always up, these dwarves are apparently cautious.

Only selected trustable merchants are told of the hidden tunnel leading into the fortress. The call sign of this entrance is the statue formation on top and the moos of a chained muskox calf. When having passed the beast the tunnel leads across several bridges known too keep visitors from falling down a 50 meters deep chasm and exploding against the rock floor.

After the bridges the road circles a sealed battlement with no access from the road, making the defenders inside impervious to possible melee invaders. The acecess point is said to be from deep inside the dwarven habitat. Following the road further ends in the Trade Depot shining in alunite against the gloomy felsite walls, this one also encircled with battlements. Sometimes you can even spot the dwarves standing behind those fortifications, aiming their bolts at the guards. Although a safe place to trade in, it feels creepy.

I stayed behind after our caravan left this time, waiting for the dwarven broker to finish doing what he was doing. After trading he simply continued his chores ignoring me, leaving me by the depot to wait until he pleased to conduct our meeting.

With an ecstatic look on his face, ecstatic for a dwarf that is, and reeking of dwarven ale he finally showed climbing the broad staircase. Shaking my hand with a grip that could crush a rock into sand he greeted me, and told how he had been mining rubies. Also he added that he had finally been given some proper office furniture, and his complaints had made them exceed his expectations.

We arrived in his office and i amazed at the office. Urist now had golden furniture encrusted with what i identified as heliodors. Two statues, a table and two chairs. Quite the improvement from the sloppily made felsite table and chair. These new furniture items obviously had had some effort put into them.

My caravan long gone we sat and talked for awhile, and i immediatly expressed my interest in the rubies he had talked about, which made him frown quite badly. The dwarves have had a year of prosperity it seemed, as using currency for our trades was our main topic. The meeting carried on and we were served some delicious dwarven roasts of cave fish, plump helmets and cow cheese. Urist also brought some of the special ale reserve for us to enjoy, these dwarves really had a good last year.

The meeting was done, and i took my leave from "Rocksbowed" glad of how the negotiations had proceeded. Urist even promised me some rubies next time we arrived.

When passing the bridges on the way out, i noticed the silence in the entrance. The muskox always moos otherwise! This was when i saw the torches and the faded glimmer of grey iron armor on narrow silhouettes. Goblins!

Standing still for a couple of seconds, paralyzed, i could hear chewing noises and see one of the narrow creatures feeding on what obviously was the muskox. Suddenly i snapped out of it, and began silently sprinting down the tunnel picking up the pace as i got further from the gobbos.

INVADERS! I shouted at the top of my lungs when i arrived at the depot. The one guard standing there looked awfully calm, grinning at me. "It is taken care of, don't you worry" the stout warrior spoke. I noticed the bulk of the character, and the fact that he was wearing a full iron armor wielding an iron shield and spear. "I am assigned to guard you if you were to return here. They call me Battlegalley, i'm the strongest warrior here in Rocksbowed and that is not implying that my comrades are weak. You are safe, just relax"

Suddenly my shoulders dropped, and my body collapsed from the long sprint i had taken. Fear swept away as i remembered the dwarves' formidable defences, and the fact that the goblins would probably not pass the battlement on the way. As i sat down i admired the huge warrior, proud and stout in his mighty armor and weapons.

Screams were heard from the tunnel and Battlegalley reacted, the screams were dwarven. Another dwarven soldier came up the staircase, and ran up to my guardian. "It's the Dreadshaft goblins, they passed the arrows with their mighty shields" the soldier spoke, and i noticed figures running towards us from the tunnel. Battlegalley and his comrade ran up shouting a mighty battlecry, charging the goblins head on.

As i saw it, but i might be wrong as it happened in the blink of an eye, was like this. Battlegalley first thrusted at his adversary with a mighty blow, blocked by the goblins shield which then countered his attack instantly with a spear to the face, Battlegalley fell immediately. The other soldier fought defensively but bravely against two opponents before falling, and as i turned and ran something got stuck in my back and i passed out.

I woke up to the amazing care of dwarven healthcare, they really do everything to care for those injured in terms of bringing food and water. Unfortunately i heard that this viscious gobin raid had been the death of 17 dwarves. The Dreadshaft gobins are no joking matter apparently.

The tale of General Kib^DF

Seven enterprising dwarves, tired of their old lives in the mountainhomes, decided to found their own settlement. It would be hard, they knew, but also very rewarding if they suceeded. They brought meat and alcohol, some pickaxes, an axe, an anvil, and a cat.

The seven dwarves surveyed their surroundings upon their arrival. Sheer cliffs, 80 feet tall, stood to the west and south; to the other, was a river, and a great chasm cleft through the mountains. To the north was a grove of trees and some more cliffs. The only way to leave now, was to hack through the antmen at the chasm's mouth.

The seven dwarves steeled their resolve, and set about making their home. One dwarf could administrate. One dwarf could mine. One dwarf could cut trees. One dwarf could work stone. One dwarf could cook, and gather plants. But none of these six dwarves are the hero of this tale; his name was Kib. And he could fish.

While the other dwarves dug, chopped, and hauled, Kib sat on his own by the river and fished. All the time, stopping only to eat, drink, or consume alcohol. He was so preoccupied with his fishing he never even went to the refuse pile to deficate. But, as the first winter came and went, Kib proved himself valuable to his settlement; since the river never dried, Kib was able to supply meat to the others all year round. Since the crops had been late in planting, Kib's fish kept all seven dwarves alive through winter.

Next year, the furnaces were running. The Furnace Operator pulled off a feat of magic: without any reagents or fuel, he produced a weapon of adamantine and armor of mithril. That day, there was a meeting in the fortress.

"We must clear the pass of antmen," declared the leader. Everyone had a reason not to be a warrior, but Kib's reason was weakest; since the crops were growing, Kib's fishing talents were no longer needed. So Kib put on his mithril plate mail, took up his mace, and marched towards the antmen blocking the pass.

The antmen were a fearsome sight. With more legs than brains, and more chitin plating than legs, Kib knew that these were beasts to be reckoned with. Still, the advantage was his: he had ~~hacked~~ wondrous metal equipment. He charged down the nearest antman, and struck in the leg with his mace, breaking it. It struck back, but its blow glanced off Kib's plate mail. Kib took out three more legs; then, with a grunt and a herculean swing, struck the beast and sent it flying against the cliff wall. He killed several more antmen in this fashion, clearing the pass to the fortress for traders and giving hope to his friends.

Kib's title of 'recruit' was replaced with 'general', and is now known as "Kib Worktrot the Carnality of Droplets, general". He has defended the fortress against dozens of ambushes, cleared the lining of a chasm of hostile beasts, and makes all residents feel safe.

The Legend of the Cursed River^DF

In the early years of the Squarebridged, fishing and hunting were grand professions. They worked together to keep a healthy supply of food coming in. The hunters would keep the land clean of terrible beasts, and the fisherdwarves would stay by the river and find the tastiest of all the fish. This was true for many years as the fortress prospered, until the hunters stopped hunting. The hunters we're killed defending the fortress from the goblin ambushes and sieges of the time. At first the fisherdwarves didn't see a difference in the amount of fish they were able to get from the river. In fact they were catching more fish.

"We don't need those silly hunters." said Alath as he was fishing along the shores.

"Of course we don't, we're doing just fine." replied Tyr.

Then one day, a fish they had never seen before appeared in the river.

"Tyr, have you seen this fish before?" asked Dim.

"No Dim, I haven't. Are you going to catch it?" inquired Tyr.

"Of course I am!" proclaimed Dim.

So Dim cast his lure into the water trying to entice this unseen fish. However this was no ordinary fish, It was not swayed by Dim's lure or any other lure in the river. This fish was a monster. Dim was patiently waiting for the fish to bite his lure when, It jumped out of the water and with force of three bears, knocked him into the river. This once seemingly innocent fish had shown it's fangs and now Dim was wrestling with it underwater. Dim struggled to get free from the monstrous fish, but it was too fast. It bit, struck, and killed dim quite quickly. But before Dim fell to the fish, he realized what kind it was. "Only the hunters spoke of this fish" thought Dim, "It's the legendary Carp!" On the surface, things were much different while Dim was losing his life.

"Have you seen Dim?" asked Alath.

"Nope. Maybe he went in for a drink." replied Tyr.

After the carp had finished killing Dim, it looked around for more prey. It saw Tyr's feet dangling in the river.

"Didn't Dim say he was going to catch this fish?" inquired Tyr.

"Well he's not here, so why don't you catch it?" replied Alath.

So Tyr cast his lure into the water hoping to entice the fish. The carp didn't care for the lure that had fallen in front of it. It quickly swam around and went straight for Tyr's feet, lazily dangling in the river. The carp revealed it's fangs yet again. It bit onto Tyr's feet and pulled him underwater before Tyr could even begin to scream. Tyr was now being bitten and having his feet ripped right off of him! Tyr was no match for this monster of a fish.

On the surface, Alath looked around quite puzzled and asked "Where is everyone?". He then went inside to check if they were on break, unknowing that his fellow fisherdwarves now rest at the bottom of a cursed river. Also unknowing, that if the hunters were still around, this would never have happened.

More fisherdwarves came back to fish, and the carp was still there. This time one of fisherdwarves saw the legendary monster as it leaped out to claim it's next victim. He was so terrified that he ran to the mayor and told him of his finds. The mayor was so concerned, he stationed a squadron of archers along the shores to see if they could kill this demon. But the archers could not see this demon for what it was. They all thought it was a uncatchable salmon eluding all the lures of the fisherdwarves. The number of deaths increased as they were oblivious the dying dwarves right next to them. The mayor didn't know what to do. He thought and thought until he came to a solution. The mayor had banned all fishing in the fortress, and declared the river be built over. This way, the area could still be used, and there would be no deaths. Or so the Mayor thought. Masons came with stone and blocks to construct a floor over the river. But the demon carp was too tricky. It began to claim the lives of the Masons as they tried to build over the river. An elite sword dwarf also met his demise to the demon carp, though he did give the greatest fight. Some say he would have almost won.

After the deaths of many Masons, Carpenters, Craftdwarves, Fisherdwarves, and even the fortress' Trader, the Mayor was truly concerned. He didn't want to completely seal the room off because there were flood gates and gear assemblies that gave the fortress water. So he came to another solution. The room would be forbidden unless a dwarf would be pulling a lever. And it was so. To this day, no dwarf dares venture to the river, unless they have business. After the events that have unfolded here during a month, the river was renamed the 'Cursed River' for all of the problems that it gave.

Vengence, Thy Name Is Sibrek^DF

It was a bright sunny day as a cheerful serf named Mosus steped outside to fetch himself a drink from the nearby river. He stooped down to cup some with his hand when suddenly, a rather territorial female alligator emerged from the water, clamping her jaws down on his head. He let out a yelp, but was soon unconscious. Mosus's brave war dog rushed to his aid, getting eaten in the process. Mosus lay there, forgotten about by the gator, streaks of blood throught the grass around him and a chunk of either skull or left arm lie at his side. When he awoke, he found that a carpenter by the name of Jesus had recovered him safely and taken him to his bed. His dear friend, the farmer, Sibrek brought him food and water everyday.

By the time Mosus was well enough to speak, Sibrek had already promised to avenge his fallen comrade, as most dwarves do not recover from head injuries. Sibrek rushed headlong into the river, punching and wrestling the green scaly beast in the water. He emerged onto the bank, alligator trailing behind him. The gator snapped and managed to badly mangle his left hand. He punched it oncemore in the head with his right arm, and as the beast gave it's final throes, Sibrek's other arm was injured as well. He removed the alligator's skin and rushed off to store it in the leather bin. Sibrek then passed out from bloodloss in the dining hall. A leatherworker made the hide into the finest alligator leather armor Mosus had ever seen, and he equipped it proudly. Sibrek's wounds only worsened as day by day he fell more and more ill. He was eventually stricken by melancholy, locked himself in the dining hall and died of thirst as dwarves all around him toasted to the quickly recovering Mosus's good health. Shortly after his burial, Jesus held a memorial party in the dining hall. Mosus attended. Datan

The Story of Mistem Rockwave^DF

My name is; that is to say, by the time my records are found, was, Mistem Rockwave. Formerly miner, now Book-Keeper and one of the last living members of our failed fortress; Regag. Gloved-daubed. So named because our expedition leader, the original at least, was a fool with no taste whatsoever.

I realise it is considered disrespectful to speak ill of the dead, but since I expect that I shall soon join them, grant me a boone in this. Of the original seven that journeyed here, and the group of nine immigrants that joined us soon thereafter, only I, my lover Ibok Fieldtrades, and the two young daughters of a dead immigrant remain.

I fear for the children. Little Logem and beautiful Stukos. They have lost everything, and our walled-in fortress will likely not see another four seasons. The food stockpiles may last, having been maintained until recently to support a much larger population. But the drink stockpiles dwindle, we have no water, and my lover destroyed the still in a fit of uncontrolled rage at the death of our good friends.

Trader caravans have passed this fortress, waiting outside the raised drawbridge for entry, and perhaps they bring much-needed supplies. But we will not permit them entry. I daren't lower the drawbridge and venture across the security of our high, fortified walls and moat. Not with the hordes of death and destruction looming beyond. Mostly, those visiting caravans are obliterated quickly by goblin hordes. Those that wait a little longer, meet a far more gristly death.

Our tale is an ambitious one, and a lesson in foolish pride, bad tactical thinking and naivete. I will start from the beginning, that you may see the great heights for which we aimed, and the speed with which we advanced, before the fall. Perhaps, were it not for that last great folly, we would have endured. And who could then predict how magnificent our fortress would have become? But, it was not to be. Read our tale; read, and learn from our mistakes...

Tekkud Tokumkivish, Mistem Tunasob, Dakost Lolumkabok Lorban Nilil, Dumat DokokulZest, Ibok Fikuknish and Mistem Iduker. These seven names, my lover, my brothers, my leader and I. We were so young, so brash and so ill-prepared. It seems so long ago, when in actuality but a few short years have passed since we believed we could take on the world.

A lone, travelling merchant had arrived in the dead of night in our mountainhomes. Bloodied, mortally wounded and half-mad. In his dying breaths, cradled in the arms of Tekkud, he had muttered tales of a nearby land of exciting, but risky prospects. Layers of rock and earth encrusted with precious metals, gems, perhaps even adamantine. Good, hard rock in which to carve a mighty fortress, but deep chasms filled with unholy creatures to test our courage, our strength. Tekkud, ever ambitious and tiring of his lowly trade duties, rallied and convinced us that we could forge a new mountainhome in such a volatile plain.

The mayor was, in time, convinced, and so we set out, across dry desert and choking jungle, over mountains and through valleys, to the land we had heard such tantalising things about. And indeed, there it was, magnificent and terrifying both as we looked down upon it from the edge of a cliff. There, in the distance, a great crack in the earth, wider than the mightiest river and so deep that the bottom, if there was one, disappeared into blackness. From a distance, we could see a few creatures roaming about the chasm. Their hulking, deformed bodies meandering aimlessly about. Trolls. And that wasn't all.

"Look! Brothers, over there! What is that?" cried Dumat, our woodcutter and carpenter. I followed his gaze, as did my brothers, and espied what, for a moment, I swore resembled the flicker of massive, leathery wings.

"We shall move with caution," ordered Tekkud. "Dig deep, far from the chasm, and exit only when we have need. But in time, we shall reclaim all of this land for our own, and reap the rewards in this rich rock." He held in his hand a nugget, encrusted with fat gems. A token, found near the edge of this land, and a good omen, we thought, of the riches to be found.

Four of us, practised miners, found a shallow cave close to the base of the great mountain of obsidian that dominated the area. Shallow, but it's walls would serve to shape the first defences of our entrance. Soon, we had built our protection. An open, grassy courtyard at the front was surrounded with double-high, double-thick walls, in front of which a long moat had been dug. A single bridge, connected to a lever, permitted entrance to this courtyard, but the bridge could only be reached via a corridor of cage and rock-fall traps. Past the courtyard, the remains of the cave converted to a wide corridor, leading into the mountain itself. There, a massive covered hall housed our trade depot, animal stockpile and kennels, and the great doors to the fortress proper. We felt safe, behind these walls, and free to dig deep.

And dig, we did...

Progress in the mine moved quickly. Though the obsidian was hard, the levels below were a patchwork of firm rock, rich metal veins and fat pockets of white and yellow sand, perfect for our farming industry.

"I forsee this place expanding quickly, once word of our great progress reaches the mountainhomes. Dig deep, and dig fast my brothers. I want four farms, a great food stockpile, a dining hall and enough bedroom for twenty dwarves dug out and cleared before the year is out. Also, let's have a nice, big meeting hall up on the entrance level. Something to impress visitors, yes?" Tekkud's ambitions grew quickly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! It may seem like a lot of work now, but you are stout and strong dwarves, and I picked each of you especially for this task! I know you can do it! We've enough food and drink to keep us a year or more, so we can concentrate on really establishing ourselves, here. Lorban, I want you to smooth all of the walls, and where sand is abundant, tear it down and erect walls of pure obsidian. Let's make this place something really special. Dumat, we'll need a plentiful stockpile of wood for all the new beds, but while your out there, do keep your eye out for exotic creatures, hmmm? I swear I saw a leopard outside yesterday, and a tame wild cat would really be something to talk about!"

Oh, we all felt so buoyed up by such speeches. The work was hard, yes, but Tekkud was right that we had enough food. We had taken no wood, no weapons aside form a single axe and our picks, nothing but four dogs and a massive supply of food and drink. We could have spent a year and a half doing nothing but digging and building, and still retain sufficient supplies that an immigrant wave would cause no problems.

In any case, work progressed so rapidly, and before even the end of our first year we were joined by more dwarves. With the two children, our numbers now totalled sixteen. More than double our original numbers.

Before long, we had established all the bedrooms, and the essentials, and work progressed on a lower chamber to act as both an exploratory area for digging our metals and gems, and to form elaborate burial chambers. "Every dwarf that inhabits these halls shall have a burial chamber all to themselves, smoothed and furnished while they live, and engraved and sealed in death. The final, sealing wall shall be crystal glass, that we may gaze upon our lost loved ones, whilst keeping their belongings and bodies safe and secure." So Tekkud had ordained.

But, things were not going as Tekkud had planned. With the wave of immigrants, he now had a workforce of farmers, more engravers, a brewer and dwarves to work on trade goods, but the mine was looking scruffy. Rock wasn't being cleared as quickly as he wanted, and many areas that should have looked magnificent were instead strewn with debris, and the cage traps that protected our fortress had, instead of wild cats and terrifying beasts, caught groundhogs, horses and two lowly child snatchers. These pitiful caged animals still served to decorate the precious meeting hall, however, and Logem and Stukos would spend their days jeering at the child snatchers in between helping out in the farms.

The most disappointing and vexing issue for Tekkud, however, was the lack of respect these new immigrants had for him. Unlike the near religious devotion he had inspired in my brothers and I, these newcomers saw him only as an administrator, and took his orders lightly. Many had even taken to wandering about outside, despite his strict instructions against it.

When the first death occurred, the graves at least were prepared...

The disrespect that embodied our new brethren had begun to infect others, and at the same time we had all become heady, almost drunk, with the sense of pride and ability that Tekkud worked so hard to instil.

Word had gotten out that Tekkud lusted for exotic creatures and, emboldened perhaps having ventured outside without suffering harm, a few of my brothers had taken to wandering into a nearby, very odd cavern, to gather animal corpses. For study, I suppose, and to get a feel for the variety of wildlife in the area.

It was a truly odd cavern. There was something very unnatural, artificial in it's construction. A dent in the earth; a perfect circle, sloped on all sides and with a sloped entrance in the centre, but the tunnels within were a rambling, meandering mess such that a rabbit might make, albeit strewn here and there with carved stairwells to different levels. I must confess, this mixture of the natural and the crafted, apparently without reason or purpose, and no signs of the civilisation that may have created it, unnerved me greatly.

In any event, for all that Tekkud forbade entry to, and forbade the items contained within this area, our brothers continued to explore it. Until one day, Dumat was lost. Poor Dumat, it seemed, had wandered down there after a mole rat, only to meet death at the hands of an enraged troll. Out of fear that others would be lost, his corpse and all his belongings were strictly forbidden, and Tekkud ordered a wall be built around the entrance to the tunnels. Sealing poor Dumat forever, to rot in the dirt.

The plan was only supposed to be temporary, of course. Tekkud had a plan.

"We will wall up that accursed tunnel to keep the disgusting filth out of our way. Then, once our numbers have grown, we will each train with weapons, and will venture into the depths to wipe out those hideous creatures, aside from those few we choose to keep for our own amusement!"

It was a noble plan, but a doomed one. The wall progresses slowly, so far was it from our fortress and our stockpiles of stone. Tekkud was loathe to send miners to dig nearer to the tunnel, as he intended to keep the numbers nearby to a minimum.

In any case, the thought of Dumat, rotting below, was too much to bear for one of our newcomers. A woodcutter by the name of Edum Inulthob, who had recently given birth, and who had remained silent on the identity of the father. In retrospect, it is clear that Dumat was her lover. In either case, she too fell. Edum ventured, baby in her arms, to the caverns to collect poor Dumat's body. Though she fled out of the caverns quickly when discovered, she was chased a ways by a troll, losing her newborn, and shortly thereafter her own life.

Soon, the beasts from the caverns began to bubble up towards the surface. Batmen, Ratmen, trolls, imps, and more. Two more lost their lives, innocently collecting cave spider webs that grew on the surface near that mighty crack we had seen upon our first arrival.

This was too much for Tekkud. It was time to take action, and take it fast...

Our bowyer had constructed enough crossbows for us each to take a pair, and we had sewn leather quivers and crafted bone bolts aplenty. Every adult member of the fortress was conscripted, every one. Tekkud recognised our nervousness, and so he lead the charge, armed with a sword instead. But we were disorganised, inexperienced and not meant for battle.

The first few that made it into the chasm took out a few trolls, but soon fell when caught in close quarters combat. Others, a few stragglers that had become lost, wandered in the wrong direction.

Seeing this, Tekkud came to us, comforted us, and led us back towards the battle. But, in his excitement, he led us down a different valley. There, I saw again that movement I had glimpsed so many months ago. But so much, so very much closer. And oh, so much bigger. Leathery wings, and then a glimmer of a massive, yellow eye. And then, I remember only heat.

When I awoke, I was back in the fortress. Ibok had rescued me, and brought me back to the safety of the fortress, raising the drawbridge behind him. I was unharmed, but traumatised. So many had been lost, and now we, and the children, were all that remained.

It matters little, now. We are doomed to die, and I would rather it be over. We realised, after a time, that even the fortress was not safe. We may have a moat and a wall t protect us, but dragons can fly. And what if it carries over some of those other creatures, or is joined by a flock of batmen? No! No, I say! If we are to die then that death shall be of our own choosing! The children may not understand, but this is for the best!

We have moved our beds, and those of the children, into the tombs. We have walled ourselves in down here, and now await the sweet kiss of death. I have spent these last few nights engraving our history on these walls, and can feel death approach as I grow ever thirstier. The children cry at night, with hunger, and with grief, but they must be strong. Better to die down here amongst our brothers than inflamed by a dragon on the surface. At least here, unlike all of our brothers, the last survivor can entomb our corpses, before climbing into his own coffin to die with dignity.

Remember us, remember our lesson, and do not try to aim for such great heights so quickly. Go slow, go cautious, and above all keep away from this accursed place!

Misadventures in Metalbulwark, part one: The Titan Ilre Justrasthru^DF

Metalbulwark is the name given to this flourishing dwarven hall, and the dwarves have worked diligently to earn this title; the front gates are made of shining zinc (for lack of stronger stuffs in the depths of their mines), and the very waters themselves have bended to the iron will of those who call this place home. Three years did they toil, and they sundered the very earth to command the element of water. Great walls of schist were established, subterranean passes carved from soil and stone, and mighty floodgates were built to contain the torrential water so the dwarves might cloister themselves into this hall of metal.

No expense was too much for these dwarves to pay, as they dug deep into the mountains. Two fortresses were established in this place; one was atop the mountainous terrain, and offered ready access to the world above for traders and crafters to ply work. Though not much to behold, it was built with the intention of using it for only the short term; the dwarves called this place "The Forge of Metalbulwark" to signify its purpose. The second fortress was Metalbulwark itself. It lay nestled in a crevasse, the very valley that was flooded with water by the dwarves to supply the budding city. Above the waterway, a grand hallway was created, lined with statues of schist and mica, the walls smoothed by the hands of dozens. The center of this hallway was comprised of bridges ready to shift and raise in the event of invasion so the dwarves could ride out any invasion, yet the dwarves were so occupied with their hubris that they never quite got around to the essential task of machinating the bridges; after all, what is the point of defending a place that is not worth defending?

Oh, there were traps, meager traps meant to withstand small goblin incursions. The walls of the tunnel leading to Metalbulward were stained with the blood of many a goblin raider, and the mechanisms to the vicious traps of whirling steel blades and saws (imported from the more mineral rich halls of others), and the ceiling above lined with carefully concealed hatches ready to drop boulders to crush marauding goblins. But these traps were designed with goblins, kobolds, and other such nuisances in mind. They were not prepared for the beasts yet to come.

So as the dwarves dug deeper and the walls and crafts became more lavish, and the bridges mouldered, the meager traps lay in wait, and an evil being turned a despondent eye to gaze upon this place that had the audacity to call itself a bulwark. The titan Ilre Konlikateng Justrasthru grinned, for the first time in nearly an age; his boredom had an outlet.

- - -

Ustuth Ginetkhel was a simple craftswoman; plain to behold, but a solid and strong woman. She was a widow, her husband having departed from the mortal coil shortly before she bore his son. She likely would not have survived the year past her partner's death were it not for the babe Ushrir; his entrance to the world gave her something to live for, and to love. She had come close to losing Ushrir as well seasons ago to goblin snatchers, but the timely intervention of a ranger (and her excellent aim) stopped the goblin dead in his track paces from where the child had been grabbed; the bone bolt protruded from the goblin's chest a mere hands' width from the child itself. After that incident, the hunter felt discouraged that her shot had come perilously close to ending the babe's life, and personally trained one of the growing hounds of the fortress to be Ustuth's protector. Her faithful war hound accompanied her everywhere she went since that day, so many years ago. Ushrir had grown to a child since then, and no longer needed to be carried and attended to religiously by his mother. Though the time for the hound's necessity had come and gone, Ustuth kept the hound with her when she went to the brook to fish.

Though she was a craftswoman in her younger years, a prodigy had since taken her place as stonecrafter after he produced the magnificent scepter Sirabudist, a mica rod decorated with bone and leather. Finding her works shadowed by the young upstart, Ustuth retired to the life of a fisher, and though there was water inside the fortress and a good bridge to fish from just outside the gates, she favored the brook for her activities. It was a long trek to and from, but she felt safe accompanied by her hound.

Frost was in the air, and parts of the brook were quickly icing over; the fishing went slowly, as most of the fish were too preoccupied with surviving the coming freeze to notice her enticing bobber. Ustuth could even see the small formations of ice expanding before her eyes, when she watched them closely enough. She had begun to reel in her line when her hound, with a deep growl, bolted off up the hill to the west. Startled by the dog's sudden flight, Ustuth hardly had time to even call for the warhound to return before a dark shape passed quickly above her from atop the hill.

With alarm, she turned to view the form, which landed with a wet THUD beside her; she screamed and fell on her rear as she quickly backed away from the horrifically mauled corpse of her guardian, which stared at her with eyes rolled back in its head. Her reactions were sluggish, her heart beating wildly and flooding her hearing. She was fixated on the site of her valued and beloved pet and protector, blood spreading from its corpse and staining the frost-tinged blades of grass. The image engrossed her completely; she could not turn away from this morbid site, even as her brain slowly registered the sound of heavy, earth-shaking footsteps approaching from atop the hill.

It wasn't until the terrible titan bellowed a terrible, mocking laugh, that she could turn from the corpse to see the one who felled her trusted hound in a single blow. She immediately got to her feet and, screaming cries for help, began to run back to the gates of Metalbulwark as fast as her feet could carry her.

Ilre watched, bemused, as the pathetic little woman ran across the field. With a dark chuckle, he began to stride after her, almost casually. His idle pace would bring him within reach of the woman within seconds, and he so looked forward to toying with the tiny woman, hearing her cries of anguish and pathetic pleas for life before he ended her.

This particular train of thought ended very abruptly as his left eye began to sting, and his vision turn blurry with blood; it took Ilre a moment to register what had just happened. Atop the hill he had just departed, a hunter had leveled his crossbow at the mighty titan, and let fly a bolt. An otherwise perfect headshot that struck just above the left eye did little more than half-blind and enrage the titan, however. His previous quarry forgotten, Ilre turned and brought his left hand up to pull the offending bolt from his forehead between thumb and forefinger, and with almost no effort, the bone bolt was snapped in twain. The hunter's face paled, and he stumbled and fought with his quiver to retrieve another arrow to unleash upon the titan. The bolt finally complied with the frightened, inexperienced ranger, and he succeeded in half-winching the crossbow before the titan ground him into a bloody paste against the freezing ground.

- - -

Ustuth's warning gave the guards a little more time to prepare for the attack; rangers had seen the titan's approach just minutes before, and all the guards had been mobilized to 'The Forge,' having expected the titan to strike there, where defenses seemed weakest. They had not accounted for Ilre's intentions to humble the dwarves by smashing through Ironbulwark, and challenging the title the dwarves put so much pride in. Dwarves scurried and fled to escape the coming titan, while the few guards still stationed at Ironbulwark readied for the attack, and the ice crept steadily along the water, as though Ilre was its herald.

Of note here is the outward defenses of Ironbulwark. Before one can even enter the tunnel leading into Ironbulwark, one must cross the moat; a simple task, as a bridge gaps the water. A wall was mostly built around the moat as well to help direct traffic and to give the city a more auspicious entry, but had never been finished (note: this is because when I TRIED to finish it, the dwarves kept building the wall with themselves inside of it and trapping themselves inside, so the outer wall was never finished ^_^;). The dwarves had not accounted for the water freezing, and so the tunnel had been temporarily expanded upon in size to create a catapult emplacement to the side. This section of tunnel was exposed to the waterside, and ran parallel to the primary tunnels until they merged about halfway down the length. Without the siege weapon prepared, however, the dwarves sought to capitalize on this position by stationing archers to view the bridge for the titan's approach.

They did not see Ilre coming. Crafty, wicked Ilre instead stepped through the incomplete wall and treaded stealthily upon the solid ice, his titanic stature belying his lithe grace as he snuck upon the ill prepared dwarves and, with little effort, snapped their bodies and tossed them callously onto the ice, which cracked and buckled under the weight of their armored forms. If any of the three had survived the malice of the titan, they would not have survived the freezing water.

So Ilre walked deeper into the mountain, not even aware of the fact he had circumvented the majority of the traps by going through the archer's perch. As the titan came ever closer to the city gates, the two remaining militia rounded up as many of the unskilled and able-bodied men and women as they could to establish a line against the titan. Only one line of traps stood between the titan and them, and they knew the inferior traps (which were simple iron and wooden giant corkscrews that sprang from the walls to wickedly carve into whatever passed them) would do little to even bloody the coming behemoth.

From the back of the line, a slow, encouraging cheer was raised; pushing through the dozen conscripts strode Iteb Rodermorul, captain of the guard. Wearing the only full set of steel armor in the fortress and bearing a wicked battleaxe, Iteb took the front of the line, and prepared the men for combat. Accompanying Iteb was a ranger; the same who had saved baby Ushrir from the goblin many years ago. She was accompanied by two dogs of her own, and carried a crossbow made from the collected bones of many a slain kobold foolish enough to challenge her.

Ilre and Iteb were fated to meet once in the coming battle, and his shame at this meeting would lead him to step down from his command (and yes, I AM EXTREMELY dissapointed in Iteb for this; I'm demoting him as soon as I'm finished writing this; read on to find out why). The fight was short, and brutal; eight of the dwarves and one hound died in the ensuing battle, ended mercifully quickly by the crushing limbs of the giant...all except one.

Tekkud Enkosdomas, an on-again-off-again soldier who had a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, was one of those caught in the hallway and drafted into service. He had wrestled a kobold thief to death once before, and though he'd found the pleasure of the brawl invigorating and took great pleasure in beating the vermin to death with his bare hands, Tekkud never gained notice by the city guard. He applied to join the militia, but somewhere along the line his information was overlooked, and he grudgingly returned to his life as a farmhand. Eager to prove himself, he was always the first to start a friendly brawl with his fellow dwarves at the Microcline Table, and oft he'd provoke the guards into partaking in the events against him. Needless to say, a return to fighting was a task he'd normally have been overjoyed to be offered.

But, lo, this would be his final fistfight. As dwarves and hound fell around him, he threw himself violently against the titan, and delivered lightning-fast and vicious jabs to the titan's abdomen. Startled by his tenacity, Ilre clutched Tekkud's body with his mighty grip, and sought to pull Tekkud off. Tekkud perservered through the crushing grip, and with a nearly feral tenacity, he delivered devastating blows to Ilre's liver and stomach, and the titan nearly fell there from nausea. The titan finally pulled Tekkud free, and with a bellowing roar of anger and pain, threw the farmhand against the far wall, where Tekkud fell broken. His bones were cracked, his head split from the impact, and he was left with a few agonizing minutes of life to see the failures of the guards he respected so much. He lived to see the disgrace of Iteb, and to be ashamed for his people.

Iteb stood in the back of the formation with the ranger, watching the fight with ax ready. He saw dwarves crushed, and watched with admiration and only passing pity for Tekkud as he was tossed against the wall and left to die. Seeing the titan wounded and off-balance, Iteb finally stepped forward and into the fray, his axe hacking at the Titan's leg. The red blood spilled, and splashed against the elegant statues decorating the hall, and he let out a victorious chuckle--which was brought to an abrupt halt as he only barely lifted his shield in time to deflect a blow from the very enraged and very unamused titan. The blow still sent Iteb reeling back, and with a cry he dropped the shield and checked his arm; it did not seem broken, but was still in pain. Iteb only looked up from his minor injury in time to take the full force of the titan's fury against his steel breastplate.

Iteb was knocked to his back, and scampered away from the giant. The other dwarves continued to pummel and beat the titan with fist and hammer, but none did significant damage to it; noticing this, Iteb's eyes widened with fear, and the decorated steel ax slid from his grip to clatter against the worked stone floor. Scrambling back a short distance, Iteb jumped to his feet and turned on his heels, quickly fleeing the wrath of the titan and retreating to the safety of the back of the defense to watch alongside the ranger, who unloaded round after round of steel-tipped fury upon the titan. The titan, realizing his injuries severe, turned and retreated. He did not, however, flee down the hall he had entered from; instead, he rushed through a door to the side, which led straight out and to the established water flow regulation chambers.

The surviving dwarves let out a cheer as the titan fled, and knew the tunnel came to an abrupt end into subterranean water. Though the tunnel emptied into the outside, the water there was subterranean, and heated from the many furnaces that worked tirelessly below the ground to produce coal and metalworks, and would not freeze. Before long, the titan realized his folly, and rested a moment to regain his breath before treading out into the disorganized and now leaderless dwarves to finish his work.

Enter two dwarves now, who knew not the woes, of their kin; Minkot and Led, two dwarven miners who, after nearly five years in the depths toiling relentlessly to produce stone and carried the very waterways of Metalbulwark upon their backs, were practically legends in themselves. Dwarves and men knew far and wide the exploits of Minkot and Led, and upon seeing the blood-slicked halls of their home, their brows furrowed, and the decorated picks of iron resting upon their shoulders gleamed, ready to spill more blood in defense of the home. The surviving militia had pulled the lever closing the zinc floodgate, trapping Ilre inside the chasm and fully prepared to leave the titan to either starve to death within or to drown, trapped from the outside and thus, freedom, by the ice he had so cleverly capitalized upon before.

When Minkot and Led were told the situation, they did look with scorn upon Iteb, who lowered his gaze to the floor with disgrace. Minkot looked to the steel weapon upon the floor, and rested his pick against the stone wall to retrieve both weapon and shield. The two dwarves, comrades and brothers forged in mountainous holes and practically the very fathers of this hall, though titles they had not for their deeds, readied themselves before the floodgate, and said, as one: "Open it." --Eddie 07:26, 4 July 2008 (EDT)

After word: The titan was finally felled by the dwarves, spearheaded by the legendary diggers. The body was unceremoniously dumped into a pit, and once the flesh if off the bones, I intend to make a helm from his bones and a totem from his skull. Of the many dead from the attack, I honestly do feel bad for Tekkud. He'd actually wrestled one kobold to death, as indicated in the story, but I left out the other two times he'd been called to service to fight goblin ambush parties at the front gate. As a farmer and plant gatherer, he had many opportunities to be drafted into service for his nation, and he threw himself unarmed and unarmored into each fight with glee and vigor. Had I made him an active member of my army, he'd likely have had the gear and training to survive that combat. He was an excellent fighter, and I'm already making arrangements to have him entombed in my finest Microcline coffin, which I find fitting for all the time he spent wrestling next to the Microcline table public gatherings were organized at. The coffin's well-crafted leather and morganite decorum settles the coffin at 670* value, which almost definitely surpasses the combined worth of any full crypt I've built for my nobles. A fitting place for that colorful character hidden inside these dull walls.

Much as I'd dislike taking my legendary dwarves out from the tunnels (especially since I have a dwarf who is going to go stark-raving mad if I don't find him some uncut gems soon!), Metalbulwark is going to be seeing some major improvements to its military forces, and other defenses in general, and those dwarves are my greatest asset. Rigorous training is going to ensue for my other soldiers, but they'll have to suck it up, now won't they?

Iteb is going to be replaced, and he will become a regular palace guard. What REALLY happened with him confuses and disapoints the hell out of me; he took a minor injury to his left arm, and as soon as the titan turned to run away, Iteb immediately went to bed to rest. Because he sucked his thumb in the back and didn't help the fight until after Tekkud was dead, then ran out of the fight as soon as he took minor injury, many more dwarves died in that hall than needed to. I may just have to execute Iteb for his incompetence.

Hey, kill two birds with one stone! Make recruits build strength on the water pumps leading into Iteb's personal death chamber...*ponders*

The Dwarf that almost killed my fortress^DF

Seven proud Dwarfs embarked on the journey of a lifetime, taking all they needed save for one important thing, barrels. although they had enough for the first year, or thought they did, they were lacking of a place to put there produce, there being no trees in the area, and after the caravan had come and gone (without any barrels, sadly) the first migrants arrived, forcing the Dwarfs to use there hard bought wood for beds. At first it seemed there would be enough for barrels left over (I bought out the caravan) but the thing i had feared happened. a dwarf was suddenly taken by a fey mood and ran to the carpenters workshop, booting out the dwarf churning out the last of the beds and then proceeded to appropriate every last stack of wood in the fortress save 3. he worked furiously whilst i angrily plotted his demise. I would have too, but before i could flood his room he finished it and came out with... a bed! made from pine, with spikes of wood (making for an uncomfortable sleeping experience) engraved with trees! how original. I hope he dies from severe splinters. It was only because of luck and selling the damn thing that we made enough logs off the humans but by that time several dwarfs had lost there lives to starvation thanks to rotten food. the only reason that dwarf still lives is because he churned out beds and barrels at an amazing rate after that but the dwarfs that lost there lives cannot be forgotten. Although i didn't really like them anyway. stupid buggers.

The case of the missing seeds^DF

It was a truly good fortress, good ol' Mengallas. The fortress had a rough start, the moat was scrapped due to the designers stupidity in the fortress entrance, we were never able to get a forge going due to the lack of an anvil, and we had little to offer to the merchants that arrived the first year. Nevertheless, we churned on. It was just that first year, me and seven good hardy dwarves. I got so caught up in things when the merchants left, I wasn't prepared at all for the wave of immigrants.

Yeah, I'll admit it, I just started, this was one of my first fortresses so I was still learning the ropes. Well, it wasn't a mistake that some hard work couldn't fix. So I got my hands dirty, and started digging out some new rooms. There were 9 new immigrants in all, more than doubled my fortress. I was so rushed, I just lopped certain immigrants in certain jobs... anyone with any crafting related skill started crafting, anyone with any cooking related skills cooked, etc. And that's when it started...

You see, I lumped all my farmer related skills together into... farming. Even those that had no farming skill. So my fortress churned on with 16 immigrants... and then I ran out of seeds. I checked my kitchen, I had it set to not cook any seeds or plants... so how did they all disappear? I hit up the wiki to check and see... Oh... non-skilled farmers can kill seeds...

DAMMIT!!

"Send him back to Mama, boys."^DF

It was towards the end of the month of Sandstone when the thief was discovered. A kobold, despite the inherent filth of his kind, had once again managed to penetrate the outer defenses of Tosidùst, “The Armored Breach.” There was an immediate ballyhoo as Dwarves dropped what they were doing and ran in every direction. Some went to alert the Fortress guard, ‘The Steels of Mortality’ whose deadly wrestlers had dispatched many an invader with sausage-like fingers. But most simply ran.
The kobold seized his chance. Sprinting through the great gates on all fours, he beat a path across the wide courtyard, aiming for the true exit. For Tosidùst was no sunken burrow of a Dwarfhome, but a mighty fortress sitting majestically on the mountainside. A wide moat, crossed by a finely wrought drawbridge and defended by a fortified barbican, was the true entrance. With spittle flying from his fangs, the kobold dashed towards freedom. “The bridge!” Cried the Mayor. “Raise the bridge!”
The entryway was still choked with excited Dwarves, but they quickly got the message. “The bridge, the bridge!” No fewer than six citizens of the Breach piled onto the heavy lever located just around the corner.
The thief was halfway across the great bridge, his stubby tail wagging with pleasure at making the Dwarves look like fools. Beneath his paws, the bridge trembled.
Dwarven engineering, the finest engineering in all existence, worked swiftly. Stone-wrought mechanisms worked with industrial grace, snapping the drawbridge up into a raised position.
The last any one saw of the kobold was high in the air, sailing up and over the courtyard, over the cliffs, over the southern ridge itself! Scavengers plied the hills for days afterward, but nothing was found. The kobold may have escaped Dwarven Justice. But the law of gravity is an even harsher code, and its sentencing was much, much swifter.

Thin Ice^DF

Seven miners arrived at their site during late winter. As the miners began walking across the frozen lake to start digging out all the cliffsides, the entire lake thawed and all seven drowned.

The World's Greatest Animal Trap^DF

Knowing that Rith wanted a metal bar for his artifact, ADT ran to the traders just as they were about to leave. "Please! We need a metal bar, only one!" he cried. The traders scratched their heads and one produced an iron bar from one of their wagons. "We'd be willing to part with this, if you have a good enough offer..." he softly said. ADT rapidly peeled off his his sock, and offered it to the traders. "Yes! Such a beautiful garment! Here, take the bar!" yelled the trader. He grabbed the sock, and gave the bar to ADT, who ran inside, struggling to put his shoe on as he did so.

Rith stealthily sneaked from his workshop to the bar stockpiles, being extra careful outside the bedrooms. It was night, so he didn't want to wake any of them. He opened the door of the stockpile, and peeked in, instantly seeing his prize, the iron bar ADT had bought from the traders. He grabbed it, and started to kiss it, thanking his deity for it. In his happiness, he ran back down to his workshop, not caring how loud he was. He started to engrave the bar, laughing maniacally as he did. But no-one heard, the workshops were just far enough from the bedrooms for them not to.

"What do you mean the iron bar is missing?!" thundered ADT, wiping his mouth with a hankerchief, having just finished breakfast with his lover Taira. "When you told me to make the wood furnace, I went to get it, and it was not there." said the Architect nervously, wringing his hands in fear, knowing of ADT's short temper. "Rith, must have been." said ADT, standing up from his chair. He kissed Taira goodbye, and went to the workshop, where Rith was standing smugly. "Iron bar, WHERE IS IT?!" yelled ADT. "Used it." said Rith simply "ON WHAT?!" "I'll show you." Rith lead ADT to the animal stockpile, where he was greeted by the sight of a willow animal cage, with an engraving of two cats on a piece of metal. ADT pointed at the engraving. "IS THAT WHAT YOU USED OUR IRON FOR?!" he bellowed. "Yep" "That thing better be darn expensive." "15,000☼." ADT's jaw dropped open. "Rith, you rock" said he.

The Ghost Cave^DF

Taken from the diary of Kogsak Olinostar, dwarven trader

There is a place we visit every fall, as the trees begin to drop their leaves. It isn't a fortress, hasn't been for some time...it's more of a cave. It's built into the side of a mountain, right next to a stream. It's the most beautiful place, almost no sign that dwarfish hands had touched the land. No roads, no tree stumps, no dead animals. Then there is the cave itself. It's a small place, just barely big enough for the old trading post that rests within it. The floor is smoothed, and engraved with strange, unsettling images. They seem to move when you watch them, and it makes me uncomfortable to stare at the wall for too long. Walls shouldn't be able to stare back.

This year, as we walked into the cave, Urdim popped out, happy as always. That poor woman is the last inhabitant of the fortress of Astninur, and this cave all that she has. The trading post is the second floor of a two story cave that she calls home...I've only had cause to go below once, when I helped her carry down a barrel of Plump Helmets...I daresay I shall never want to go down there again. Her bed is placed near the door, and then, right behind that lies six coffins, carefully made and sealed shut. Below that is a flooded staircase...it had been one mistake that flooded the whole fortress, she'd explained. It's a terrible story...and yet she seems unaccountably cheerful.

But we do not visit this place every year just to check in on the poor young woman, for she produces incredible pieces of work, ruby encrusted mechanism and masterfully sculpted crowns, made from the very stone of the mountain, yet more beautiful than any metal crown. It is an incredible that she produces it all in her little cave...and so very sad that this work is all that she has to remember her comrades, one her husband, by. Every night, she locks the door to the lower chambers, and we hear the last mark of her madness...voices. A myriad of voices rises from the unnatural floors, filling our sleeping ears with their laughter, and the beating of hammers, and the chink of picks hitting stone. But come day break, it all fades away, and Urdim pops out, smiling, her madness sustaining her for one more day.

When we leave, she sees us off, then vanishes into her cave, closing the door behind her. We've caught many goblins stalking the area, and none of them know of the fortress in the area. None of them even knew that dwarves traveled through here...and our swords ensure that no one will know.

She is indeed a strange one, her madness singularly healing...and yet, sometimes I wonder...for sometimes, the voices sound so real, so convincing...I almost want to share her delusion...that her world is just fine. But I always leave the poor girl behind, to live with her ghosts.

Washing the Dead^DF

In a randomly generated world, on top of a high mountain, a dwarf named Meng Tosidmogshum took the last steps up on to the plateau. This was where the entrance to the fortress was to be found...

He had left the fortress where he was born a few weeks ago and had been travelling since, together with his good friend Edëm Dakostlål. Meng was somewhat skilled with the spear, Edëm with the sword and since their fortress already had enough soldiers they decided to travel here, to Seizureworked. The first dwarves to settle here had arrived many years ago, since then not many had followed. They had heard that they were in need of more soldiers, to ward off the vicious goblins that roamed the mountains.

They had expected a solid gate on the side of the mountain, instead all they could see was a single house on the middle of the plateau, surrounded by a small moat. Confused, they started walking against the house.

Once they were a little bit closer to the house they could see dwarves running in and out of the house, and outside of the moat laid rotten corpses and skeletons of goblins, kobolds and one or two trolls. Getting even closer they could feel a stench, worse than any sewer, any dead were left to rot out in the fields. Meng felt that he might be seeing that breakfast once again and held his hand over his nose.

The dwarves on the small moat-surrounded island began to notice the two dwarves, but didn't spend more than a few seconds to look at the newcomers, they proceeded to do their jobs. Meng soon realised where the awful stench was coming from, as he was walking on the bridge onto the island he looked into the moat, an action he regretted... This moat was not filled with water, nor was it filled with magma, it was filled with the dead, dwarves and goblins alike, not only did Meng regret looking into the moat, he was starting to regret travelling here in the first place.

Once they had walked over the bridge and stood on the small island, looking at the house, they could now see the entrance to the fortress. In the ground was a hole, covered by a hatch, going down there you'd find a long stairway down to the fortress, it was wide open and dwarves were running in and out frequently, followed by their pets and livestock.

One of the dwarves, some sort of craftsdwarf, greeted them and pointed towards the stairs, telling them that they'd receive a proper welcoming down there. And that was what they did.

They now stood in the meeting halls of Seizureworked, and before them stood an unusually short dwarf, with an unusually long beard. His short height didn't seem to bother him, though, he grinned and went forward to hug the two dwarves. Another dwarf appeared, handing the newcomers mugs of ale, Meng felt a bit better but he hadn't forgot about the rotting corpses of the world above.

The dwarf told them to follow him to their new homes, and so they started walking down a wide and busy corridor. They took a turn at the near the end of the corridor, and now stood before a massive oaken door, their guide knocked on the door which was opened almost immediately. On the other side of the door was a large room with a high ceiling, they stood on a platform above the actual floor, next to them stood a few soldiers in muddy gear.

One of the soldiers, wielding a copper spear, whispered something to the others, looking at Meng's weapon, a finely crafted steel spear. Meng's grip on the spear hardened. The dwarf that had opened the door closed it once again, leaving the guide outside. The door-opening dwarf led them down a ramp onto the muddy floor, which at a closer look was littered with worn clothes and little trinkets. There was another door, even more solid than the last, and made of stone. The dwarf told them that the rooms were behind that door as he started walking up the ramp again.

Meng turned around, more suspicious now, the soldiers had left the room, and the dwarf was running towards the open door, this wasn't right he thought. He started running towards the door, but he was too late, the door-opener (and now also a door closer) ran out and closed the door. Meng was trapped, together with Edëm who was surprisingly uninterested in anything at all.

TICK TICK TOCK...

Something happened in the walls around Meng, mechanisms were in the moving.

TOCK... TOCK... CLONG

The door behind him started sliding into the wall. What would appear from behind that door, a great two-headed dog? Or perhaps an ogre?

At the same time outside the room, the soldiers were listening to what was happening inside, their ears pressed against the door.

TAP TAP TAP TAP...

Up the ramp...

BONK BONK BONK

On the door...

BLARR... BLUURGH... BLUB BLUB...

From a washed dwarf.

A few minutes later the door-opening,door-closing lever puller pulled a lever, and soon the water had drained. The wooden door was opened for the soldiers to retrieve their new gear.

A Tragic Tale of Love, Life, and Loss.^DF

Well, not actually. But it is a tragic tale of loss. Names and a bunch of minor details made up for dramatic effect. I lost this fortress in a computer crash so I can't look up what they actually were anymore. Which is too bad, it was the first fortress I was doing right.

Asmel sat at his favorite table, sipping at a bit of his favorite dwarven wine. The dining hall was empty that day, so once he was finally able to enjoy a bit of silence. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. This was a good day. Not that his life was terribly difficult. Most of the time he just sat around in the dining hall with all the other slackers, drinking. Asmel smiled. He was one of the luckier ones. When he had immigrated in not too long ago, there were already massive unemployment problems throughout the Violencewalls colony. Almost as soon as he had sat down in the nicely furnished dining hall, management was already plunking tons of unskilled labors into the army left and right, with the rest getting forced into building a worthless castle outside the fort. Asmel had lucked out. With a vaguely useful skill like brewing, he had managed to be overlooked by the higher-ups during the great job surge. But when all was said and done, there were still a bunch of dwarves who had nothing to do all day except haul the occasional doodad and drink. Asmel chuckled. Whatever faceless entities were running this fort sure were incompetent. Suddenly, a worried looking dwarf busted into the dining hall, interrupting Asmel mid-drink. Asmel looked up. It was Tulon, fellow idler whose main job was drinking ale, and who did a bit of furnace operating on the side.

“Hey, did you hear the news?” The usually jovial Tulon inquired. Asmel set his drink down as a concerned expression spread across his face.

“No, what’s up? Someone box himself in on the castle project again?”

“No, man. Something serious. You know Likot? The hunter?” Likot was usually one of the busier dwarves, so Asmel wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with him. He recognized the name, however.

“Yeah. What happened?”

“Well, apparently he got himself killed.”

“What? Seriously? How?”

“That’s the thing. No one knows. He was returning from a successful hunt, when suddenly, bam! He died. We don’t know what happened, but it sure as hell ain’t natural.”

“...Huh.”

“Yeah. Well, anyways, the fellows up top want us to clean up. They think it’s safe now, and they’re ecstatic that they can keep us busy for a couple seconds. A bunch of the other haulers are ready to go. We’re waiting on you.”

“Alright.” Asmel rose from his seat, stretching the kinks out of his system. Well, up until now it had been a good day. Contrary to it’s name, it was rare that anything bad happened around Fort Violencewalls. Even the most recent goblin invasions had turned out to be nothing more than an additional income source. Asmel followed Tulon up the stairs to the entrance of the fortress, where a bunch of the other usually jolly drinkers had assembled, somber expressions dominating their faces.

“I found him, let’s go.” Said Tulon. The grave procession began their march through the lush forest, stepping over brambles and ducking under branches, keeping a careful watch on the dense woods around them.

“So, where is the guy?” Asmel asked the nearest dwarf. It happened to be Fath, a calm and unmotivated wood burner who favored Dwarven Rum.

“Down south near the river, I think. What do you think happened to him? Goblins or something?”

“Naw, can’t be. The whole fort would be up in arms if it were. Thank God. If there’s one thing I hate it’s lugging some gobbo’s bloodsoaked boots halfway across the world because he didn’t have the decency to die at the castle gates.”

“Then what? I mean that guy was pretty tough, right? I mean, he killed animals for a living.”

“Hey, I don’t know. Maybe some cougar got the drop on him or something. Man, I hope it went quick. He was a good guy.”

“…Yeah.” At that moment, a voice rang through the trees ahead.

“Hey, I think I found him!” Asmel and Fath picked up the pace a bit, stepping out into a small clearing.

“By Armok….” Asmel muttered to himself under his breath, taking in the grisly scene before him. Likot was lying in a crumpled heap of limbs face down on the banks of the river, mouth ajar with an expression of surprise on his face. Nearby sat the body of his most recent kill, an unlucky deer with several bolts stuck in it’s neck and body. The blood of the deer painted the nearby shrubbery red, while Likot’s own blood tainted the nearby river. Next to Likot were Tulon and Datan, an aspiring Judge of Intent who did a little farming on the side. Tulon had picked up Likot’s favorite iron crossbow and was examining it carefully for damage, while Datan crouched over the body, examining the wounds.

“Gentlemen, dinner is served.” Datan joked, grimly. He turned the body over.

“You’d better work on your comedian skills, buddy.” Fath replied. “At least he’s in one piece.” He added. “Well, shall we get started?”

“Yeah, lets get this over with.” Asmel walked apprehensively over to the macabre figure. “I’ll take the cap.” Datan leaned in close, studying the appalling gashes closely.

“Hey, you know, I think these are bi-“ He never finished the sentence. At that very moment, there was a splash of water, a spray of blood, and cry of pain. A slimy figure had leaped out of the water and latched onto Datan’s neck. There was a sickening crack as Datan’s neck gave way to the Sturgeon’s fearsome jaws. Asmel stumbled back, landing on his back and dropping the leather cap. “Son of a-!” He exclaimed. The sturgeon had flopped back into the water. Tulon leaped backwards, only to trip over an unfortunately placed root.

“What the hell was thaAAAAH!” Asmel’s eyes darted to Tulon, just in time to see another sturgeon latch onto to Tulon’s leg. The sturgeon then started to drag Tulon into the murky depths below. “OH GOD OH GOD HELP ME H-” Tulon’s cries turned to garbled splashes as his head slipped below the waters, his hands desperately grabbing at loose dirt. Asmel wildly felt the ground around him, looking for a weapon, or a handhold to pull himself away, or anything really. His hand felt the cold iron of the crossbow Tulon had dropped.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit….” His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He pulled the crossbow in closer, right when another sturgeon burst out of the water. Asmel realized he didn’t know how to work a crossbow, and tried to scramble away. He turned around to see Fath, scared stiff, watching the whole massacre in absolute fear. “Get the hell out of here, Fath! Get help fro-“ A sudden pain lanced through Asmel’s leg. Asmel’s gaze flicked around, only to see the sturgeon clinging to his left leg. This is it…he thought to himself. The last thing he saw was another sturgeon lurching out of the water, flying towards his head….

Sitting at my computer, I notice that that three of my civilian dwarves were struck down within 2 seconds by fish. “What the ****.” I say to myself. Then I think, oh well. It’s just 3 haulers.

Kogan's Sacrifice^DF

The digging was going along normally. Kogan and his fellow miners were mining near an aquifer. However, what they didn't know is that they had already found the aquifer. They drilled into the damp rock, hoping to get some more land for the farms that were progressing nicely. Water flooded out, and the miners were called back to build a wall. One miner had to stay to put down the last bricks. Kogan worked against the tide of the water, cutting off the flow, to realize that he was on the wrong side of the wall. Kogan gave his life for the fortress of Waningink, and his sacrifice was commemorated with a simple monument, consisting of parallel bauxite bridges, to be adorned with platinum statues, as a commemoration of the sacrifice of the dwarf who had saved the fortress at a cost that should never have had to been paid.

As a side note, Waningink has had five deaths. Two executions (water towers), three dwarves sealing themselves on the wrong side of water-related structures.

The Cursed Child^DF

The sleepy Dwarven hamlet of BellSwelters was in downtime, waiting out a bitter winter, when Feb Libashudar finally bore her child. News travels fast in a small fortress, and within minutes everyone was awake; a wild celebration was thrown at the well. Feb, having had a touch too much to drink, staggered beside the well, losing her grip.

This was an underground well, dipping into a sunken pool carved out of the living rock. A clever contrivance of gears, gates, and weighted pushrods kept it full but not brimming, fed from the river above. Moments after little baby Momuz' plunge, already astonished partygoers witnessed the waterfall suddenly erupt with hitherto unknown fury; caught in some vital cog, little Momuz took all of Bellswelters with him beneath the icy winter waters.

The Hidden Tower^DF

There was once a small, but thriving fortress dug out under a mountain, which was at the edge of a vast mountain range. There was a forest at the north of the mountain, a brook on the west, a volcano on the southwest, a chasm on the southeast, and mountains on all other sides.

The fortress grew slowly in size, but very quickly in wealth, as they were surrounded by precious metals and gems. There was so of this that when the miners had just begun to dig they struck gold. Once the Dwarven caravan had returned to the Mountainhomes, bearing golden crafts and platinum statues, they brought news of an outpost with immense wealth. The news spread like wildfire, and soon almost the whole world knew about it.

However, as always, the news reached the wrong ears. Goblin and Kobold thieves and ambushers came soon, eager to steal the riches. The fortress was still small in terms of population, but their military was made up of grim, determined dwarves who fought bravely. The outpost managed to repel all attacks with minimal loss. Their population grew very fast since migrants arrived in huge numbers.

Soon, the mayor sent some miners on an expedition to the far ends of the area to find more ores and gems. He also wanted a supply of magma for a smelter. The miners dug faithfully, but forgot to block the tunnels they dug, and soon chasm creatures flooded the fortress. Meanwhile, the fortress lost a couple of good miners at the volcano, but they managed to channel magma to the fortress. Along with the magma came Fire Imps, Fire Men and Magma Men, rapidly killing dwarves. To cap it all, the Goblins sent a huge siege party to the fortress.

The mayor consulted the Captain of the Guards, who told him that even if they managed to drive away the critters, the goblins would finish them off. However, he had an idea. The miners were sent for an extremely important, and classified mission. They dug out a temporary room for the dwarves, under the mountain. The nobles were quickly rushed in, followed by the civilians with the food, drink and all other items they took. The military tried their best and drove away most of the chasm creatures. The Captain, after beheading the last troglodyte, rushed the army into the room. The miners, meanwhile, dug a tunnel from the brook to the room, providing a water supply. Finally, the best mason built a wall to block the pathway, just as the lava creatures arrived.

The Goblins were surprised to find the fortress totally devoid of dwarves. As they explored the fortress, it seemed as if it was devoid of treasure too. Then the lava critters burst in. There was a fast and furious battle between the Goblins and the Fire Imps. The Goblins managed to drive them back to the magma forge, a heroic feat, when even more Magma Men and Fire Men emerged from the lava. The Goblins sent a few messengers to nearby towers, just before they were all burnt to crisps. Soon, chasm creatures spouted out of the tunnels, and joined forces with the Magma Men to battle more Goblins who arrived. In short, there began an endless battle between the goblins and the creatures of the region.

Unbeknownst to the other beings in the outpost, the mountain was almost entirely excavated. In the centre was a vast tower, made of gold, silver and platinum. There were hundreds of brilliant statues and engravings. The dwarves were thriving. Without the caravans to bring them food (since most dwarven civilisations had wiped them off the map), they relied on farming and herding for food, cloth and drink. They also mined extensively, with tunnels reaching to various corners of the area. Their tower was like a wonderland for dwarves, with ponds, statue gardens, zoos and artificial waterfalls.

The dwarves of the Hidden Tower, as they called themselves, survived for decades in that tower, entirely self-sustainable. However, they did not realise that a few adventurers had driven out the goblins, and the dwarves had begun populating it again. They managed to tame the wild creatures. However, they too were surprised to find strange tunnels criss-crossing the earth, more surprised to find very little stone remaining. They were also blocked out from a certain mountain by what were certainly dwarven-made walls. Alas, if the hidden dwarves had chosen to reveal themselves, they would have survived what was coming for them....

A couple of centuries later, when there was but 1 dwarf alive that remembered life before the escape to the tower, a terrible famine struck the fortress. The main reason was that a dwarf went strange and started screaming for glass. Since there was no means of making it (the only thing the fort lacked was a supply of sand) the dwarf went berserk. The fortress's mayor had not planned any assault on its citizens so there was no military at all. The miners were the only dwarves who carried any weapons. Most unfortunately, the crazy dwarf was a legendary miner.

The fortress was mainly focused on food production, so it's population of almost 500 would be sustained. The majority of the working class was working in a few rooms in farms, farmer's workshops, kitchens, stills, butcher's shops and fisheries. Fisherdwarves also fished in channelled streams from the brook and the underground river. The berserk dwarf rampaged through the food workshops, and slaughtered most of the poor workers.

The mayor immediately called for the miners to subdue the berserk dwarf. Meanwhile, the dwarf in question worked his way to the farms. There was a renovation project going on in the farms, and there were many farmers there. There were also some plant processors making cloth and food. The miner ravaged through most of the workshop workers, before a brave farmer tried to wrestle with him. The farmer was killed almost instantly, but he enticed a few more farmers to try to grab the berserk dwarf. After a few minutes, the pick was pulled out of his hand.

The crazy dwarf was soon killed by the miners, but the damage was done. Almost all the food workshop workers were dead, and the rest were injured to some degree. Altogether 79 dwarves were killed. The smell of dwarf blood hung in the air for weeks after that. All the remaining ~400 dwarves attended a mass funeral, but many dwarves were unable to handle the loss of so many friends and went mad.

After all that, about 300 sane (but still unhappy) dwarves remained. All the dwarves were put into the food industry. Though there were loads of dwarves producing food, it was still not enough since the majority of the workers were unskilled, and unable to work fast enough.

The fort had huge hordes of animals kept in cages, so when butchered they produced enough food for the population. However, the fort entered a 'drink crisis' since the brewers were too slow. Within a few months, more and more dwarves became unhappy, and unhappier, and finally succumbed to madness. A few just starved to death, and caused more unhappiness. Others went berserk, and killed even more dwarves, causing EVEN more unhappiness. The beautiful tower did not look that beautiful any more, what with bloodstains and mad dwarves at every corner.

When the population of sane dwarves reached just 100, it was obvious that the fortress was going to collapse. Kogan, the old miner who was the only dwarf who lived before the construction of the tower, was not too happy about this, as he had seen the tower grow all the way. He and his apprentice Mafol secretly went out to mine in the tunnels one evening, but instead of going to the appropriate digging site. They were trying to dig their way out. They managed to dig all the way up and, braving daylight after centuries, threw up promptly.

Both dwarves had a severe case of cave adaptation. Thanks to this, they were temporarily stunned, and did not notice the approach of a ferocious dragon above them. By luck, the dragon did not notice them either, and flew straight to meet the new dwarves at the fort.

At night, when the sky was dark, the two dwarves went out exploring. They marvelled at the trees, the grass and the beautiful fresh air. While doing this they reached the new settlement in the area. The dragon was, at that point, frying some dwarves inside the fort. Kogan and Mafol were not educated about dragons and went in unknowingly. After killing all the new dwarves, the dragon was peacefully resting on its hoard, when the two miners stumbled in.

The dragon was quite intelligent, and knew from the start that the 2 were not from the fort he just depopulated. They were richly garbed with silk clothes and their picks were set with diamonds. With a burst of flame the two miners were transformed into a pile of ash on the ground. However, the sighting of the 2 dwarves caused the dragon to ponder....

The dragon immediately set off to find out where the mysterious miners came from. He found the staircase and went down to find a new tower, full of more dwarves to eat! The apperance of the dragon caused the already poor morale of the dwarves to break. All the dwarves were killed that night, and thus ended the lives of the Dwarves of the Hidden Tower.

The Hammer of Madness

In a fortress unnamed, deep under the mountain in a narrow, forgotten hall dense with wood smoke, a dwarf on the edge of madness worked slowly, almost mechanically as if controlled by some outside force, but with great mastery. Hands twitchy as marionettes smote pig iron again and again, while the light of the furnace's glow caught in his eyes menacingly. Over all this came the unending chant of 'Müzuak, Müzuak'. Occasionally dwarves would come and watch, always at a distance. What strange force had possessed their metalsmith?

The form finally cast, the metalsmith began to carve a pattern of enormous intricacy for many days. Blinking and bleary, our metalsmith finally returned to his senses, exhausted and starving, to find he had made Müzuak, 'Fungusmurder', a pig-iron toy hammer of legendary qualities, carved with an engraving of itself... carved with an engraving of itself... carved with an engraving of itself... Peering through a curiously curved chip of crystal, he found still smaller hammers with smaller ones yet carved on them, curving off farther than dwarven eyes could see.

Why would alien forces possess their metalsmith and force him to create this? No one knew. There was nothing to do but inter the artifact in their deeply guarded, polished-walled, double-doored Museum alongside the Coal Amulet of Terrifying Engravings and the Glittering Mechanism of Solid Gold.

Two months later, the dwarven caravan offered them a pair of socks, embroidered on which was a toy hammer, containing a yet smaller toy hammer, containing a yet smaller toy hammer, as finely rendered as cloth and needle permits. Below it in dwarven runes read 'Fungusmurder'. There had been no contact whatsoever with the dwarven homeland until this day. They had always grumbled at their masters, as dwarves are wont to do, but never before had they suspected the Dwarfhome itself had allied with fey forces...

He just won't let it go^DF

My marksdwarf shot my armoursmith in the leg while practising, after he recovered the dwarf was possesed and made an artifiact....

"Leghurt the copper leggings" it was called.

"On this item is the image of a dwarf and a dwarf in copper. The dwarf is shooting the dwarf."

I love this game...

Kogan Mossbeard enters a fell mood...^DF

One of my best craftdwarf has been hammered to death due to an impossible mandate from the nobles. His wife was very unhappy for a week before it finally happened.

Kogan Mossbeard looses a roaring laughter, fell and terrible!

Before my eyes I could see the guilty noble being dragged to the butchery shop, screaming bloody murder before her axe chopped his head off.

Urist Pansypants has been struck down

Turns out he was playing in the whip vine flour this entire time!^DF

After a caravan of tree-huggers left, I noticed two additions to my unit list: a tame hedgehog and a tame blackbird. Turns out those cages were so cheap because they had some pet vermin in them! I shrugged, ordered the well-decorated cages be built into the sheriff's office to add a spark of life to the room, and asked if anydwarf wanted to adopt them. My clothier quickly adopted the hedgehog, but the bird has been singing his song in his gilded cage for over a year now. Anyway....

I noticed about two seasons ago that the hedgehog was no longer in his cage. I couldn't zoom to him anywhere. We made a cursory search and then forgot about him.

Today, I went to go find my woodworker to ask about those new barrels, and it turns out he's in the pantry. Told me he was busy Small Creature Caging. I follow him out of curiosity, as he lops back to the sheriff's office and deposits the hedgehog back in his cage!

The psychotic dwarf who could (swim)^DF

Long long ago, back in the early ages of the world, there was a modest fortress known as Mournriddle the Mortified Armored Beetles of Angels. Now, it is simply known as Mournriddle. After it's founding in 210, it quickly grew in prosperity. One day, a certain Mebzuth Inkpuzzled had a wonderful idea for armor. Alas! The steel and iron brought to the fortress from caravans had ran out just a week ago when the very same dwarf created a wonderful variety of sheilds and chainmail. Mournriddle's leader was somewhat inexperienced, and a bit of a packrat, so it only occured to him later to melt down iron goods, and by then it was too late.

Inkpuzzled finally snapped, and started babbling everywhere. He eventually jumped into a small lake after nearly fully stripping himself of all clothing. He began to drown, and everyone wrote him off as dead. But then, something amazing happened. He learned to swim! He quickly became tougher and a better swimmer, and even falling asleep in the water could not prevent him from breathing! A year and a half later, after reaching grand master rank in swimming.

At least that's what the official records say. Adventurers who travelled to Mournriddle years after it's downfall at the hands of a massive siege said that, even after clearing out all of the goblins who had claimed the fortress as their own, they still heard the faint paddling of a dwarf, swimming for all eternity to seek solace from his own insanity.

Urdim's blowgun^DF

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

Urdim, you are a freaking idiot.

The Shellfish Diet^DF

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

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

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

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

Any Cost^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Any cost."

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

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

The turtle shell Idol^DF

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

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

The Story of Treatyflames^DF

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

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

Continued here.

The first half year of Onulod^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Merciless Gears^DF

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

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

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

CLICK!!

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

"A Touch Warm" Indeed^DF

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

The Eventual Triumph^DF

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

Endok Ageshmorul, The Guard's Finest^DF

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

Tekkudsherik, Pickperplex^DF

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

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

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

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

Boo the Mighty^DF

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

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

Long live the memory of Boo the Mighty.

The Emergency Protocol^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Line of Defense^DF

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

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

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

The (Attempted) Rape of Webglaze^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tradeddawn's Legacy^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten seconds.

We did it, Vyl.

The Goblin Ambush of Ironwalls^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Worst Titan^DF

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

"Titan!"

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

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

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

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

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

dwarf cabin fever^DF

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

Damn those Elves!^DF

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

The Expeditioner's Logs^DF

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

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

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

The mayor who could^AD

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

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

The Chef's Fine Dish^DF

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

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

Keeping the new boss happy...^DF

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

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

Flushed Away...^DF

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Feed the Spiders^DF

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

Armok, it seems, has a sense of humor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The odds would only get worse after her death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Long Live Queen Zaneg!

--Kromkar Alathrit

Cog Thabostcatten, the little girl that hated everything

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

The '45. The Year of Hell

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Siege of PaintFeed ^DF

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

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

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

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

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

"Lower the gate!"

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

Confineink, Part 1^DF

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

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

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

Download links

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

The founding of Kudustadil^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Smallest Immigrant's Tale^DF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The origin of goblin thieves

Located here.

Mouthsmouldered and Logem Cattenromek

Located here.

40d:Stories

You don't want to go to the desertDF

The lonely masonDF

STOP PRESS: Strange Rumblings in Newhomes of WaterDF

The Channel DiggerDF

Sweet Likotasen's Baadasssss SongDF

The named MugDF

Rimrise's TragediesDF

Goblins from hell raiding RocksbowedDF

The tale of General KibDF

The Legend of the Cursed RiverDF

Vengence, Thy Name Is SibrekDF

The Story of Mistem RockwaveDF

Misadventures in Metalbulwark, part one: The Titan Ilre JustrasthruDF

The Dwarf that almost killed my fortressDF

The case of the missing seedsDF

"Send him back to Mama, boys."DF

Thin IceDF

The World's Greatest Animal TrapDF

The Ghost CaveDF

Washing the DeadDF

A Tragic Tale of Love, Life, and Loss.DF

Kogan's SacrificeDF

The Cursed ChildDF

The Hidden TowerDF

The Hammer of Madness

He just won't let it goDF

Kogan Mossbeard enters a fell mood...DF

Turns out he was playing in the whip vine flour this entire time!DF

The psychotic dwarf who could (swim)DF

Urdim's blowgunDF

The Shellfish DietDF

Any CostDF

The turtle shell IdolDF

The Story of TreatyflamesDF

The first half year of OnulodDF

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

The Merciless GearsDF

"A Touch Warm" IndeedDF

The Eventual TriumphDF

Endok Ageshmorul, The Guard's FinestDF

Tekkudsherik, PickperplexDF

Boo the MightyDF

The Emergency ProtocolDF

First Line of DefenseDF

The (Attempted) Rape of WebglazeDF

Tradeddawn's LegacyDF

The Goblin Ambush of IronwallsDF

The Worst TitanDF

dwarf cabin feverDF

Damn those Elves!DF

The Expeditioner's LogsDF

The mayor who couldAD

The Chef's Fine DishDF

Keeping the new boss happy...DF

Flushed Away...DF

Don't Feed the SpidersDF

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

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