40d:Stories/Archive 9

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!

---

Epic Purveyor of mittens^DF

 So, this woman in my first fortress likes cows for their haunting moos. I 

immediately renamed her Epic Purveyor of Mittens.

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*

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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.