Difference between revisions of "40d:Stories"

Revision as of 05:23, 3 May 2009

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!

Ducim Kizesttulon Etagzunek, Champion

This is the story of Ducim Kizesttulon Etagzunek's rise to champion status and earning the respect of his fellow dwarfs.

Ducim enter Ostoslan (Foldedwound in human tongue) as a simple peasant. At that time the outpost was in need of a small defence force to protect the hard working dwarves from the dangerous wildlife in the area, so Ducim was drafted into the unexperienced force of recruits as a marksdwarf. But before Ducim was able to train in the art of the crossbow the fortress was attacked by a party of goblins that where meant to be a siege. As the dwarven force was only recently founded all the recruits had little or no experience in there weapon, but the dwarves managed to hold out against these weak goblins with 4 casualties and Ducim killing 3. Seeing Ducim's success in smiting the goblins many dwarves where turned into marksdwarves and for the next year the dwarves trained.

Early next year the dwarves where visited by a human caravan with many great warriors which the dwarves looked up to, but while the fortress traded for extra food and animals, the Dragon Usmok Karaostri Palathmistrum arrived seeking to take the riches that the fortress held. Seeing the Dragon coming Ducim prepared the troops for battle but some where still recruits and many where scared by the sight of the approaching Dragon. The Dragon raced at the troops and started roaring fire at the scared recruits but the marksdwaves (seeing as that was what most of them where) all opened fire at the ferocious beast striking it all over but it was Ducim that scored the killing shot which struck the Dragon in the head. Ducim was promoted to legendary status after that shot and was loved throughout the fortress for it, evening winning the heart of one of the first settlers of the outpost.

But after one season the fortress was attacked by the next siege this time 3 battalions, this outnumbered the force of dwarves ready to fight for the fortress. The battle that followed was a bloody fight, all of the recruits where killed by the merciless goblins and even all the trained dwarves could not survive the force of the goblins with the only survivor being Ducim but not after she was wounded in the head by a hammer and shot in the arm. She was quickly raced into her room and stayed there unconscious for 3 years while her wounds healed. Her husband spent every spare second looking after her and cared for their 1 year old son.

When she woke up the fortress was a different place, the population was nearing 100 and the dwarves where all new and unfamiliar to her, but with her husband by her side she was shown down to the new barracks and was quickly informed of the 3 battles that had pass with all but one being succsesfully defended. But the loss of life was huge and Ducim new that this fortress needed proper defences. And with her as the guide the fortress was equipped with a moat and traps to prevent the vile goblins from getting into the fortress. But before the defences could be completed the fortress was attacked by the largest siege yet, 12 battalions of goblins charged at the unprepared fortress. Duncim rallied the troops and prepared for another battle with the goblins she hated so much. The goblins stopped at the edge of the half prepared defences and their leader Hammer Lord, Estrur Astruksodur stepped forward and called at the dwarves "Is this it? The fortress that has been defying my attacks has been a half developed hole in the ground?" The goblins behind him laughed wickedly at their leaders remarks, the recruits where scared stiff by this display of power, but Ducim was not shaken. She simply drew out her crossbow aimed at the ugly creature that stood before her and fired. The shot hit the ugly face of the goblin leader and his body crumpled forward and he fell into the half dug channel that surrounded the fortress. The goblins around the Hammer Lord stared in silence at the dead body of there leader and quickly turned tail and fled. The Dwarves cheered at Ducim and she was instantly crowned a champion, the rest of the goblins now unnerved by the death of their leader charged at the dwarves but they where cut down by the now up lifted dwarves.

Duncim still lives to this day and is the leader of the military at Ostoslan, and is looked up to by all the recruits. Since that battle the goblins have been sending out small battalions of men which are cut down by the defences the Ducim finished and since the construction of the defensives there have only been 10 casualties in battle. Duncim the Champion, the Lover (she has 7 kids) and defender of Ostoslan.

They Tried, Anyway

The small outpost of Complexgate, founded by the Syrup of Murders, was founded far from the old mountainhomes of the Iron of Indignation, and its inhabitants expected to get plenty of harassment from the local goblins and kobolds with little support from the rest of the kingdom. What they didn't expect was to be beset every year by as many goblin warriors as there were dwarves in the fortress, envious of dwarven wealth and dwarven beards. Traps alone would not suffice to hold off the encroaching raider bands, and the Fortress Guard had to be kept in reserve as a last line of defense should the tunnels themselves be breached. The first batch of recruits came, of course, from dwarves who lacked any useful talents. With nothing else to lose, these soldiers accepted that they would be expected to lay down their lives for the fortress.

After months of drilling and training, the militia came to be good friends, with each other and with the Fortress Guard, and love blossomed amidst the camraderie in more than one instance. Two of these star-crossed lovers were Domas Oddomegast and Dodok Athelerib, a pair of noble, full-bearded souls who were admired and well-liked by the whole fortress. Alas, tragedy befell when the fisherdwarves were ambushed by a lone goblin maceman before Complexgate's southern entrance (the Syrup of Murders has more than lived up to that name; it's very easy to get lost in Complexgate). The first to arrive on the scene as Bomrek Risentashem breathed his last was Domas, gripping his steel hammer with determination no softer than the cold metal. The goblin scarcely threw its shield up before Domas crushed it to the ground, smashing its chest in through its thick iron mail.

Yet no sooner had Domas claimed victory, lifting his warhammer and shield in exultation while Dodok and his fellow soldiers looked on with smiles and cheers, when a iron-tipped arrow zipped down from atop the westward cliff and bounced off the rocks at Domas's feet. Cold horror gripping his heart and slowing his thoughts, the hammerdwarf could only look up the unsympathetic chalk rock face, to the dark figures standing atop, silhouetted by the setting sun. Finally urging his sluggish body to motion, he made a desperate dash for the fortress doors, but it was too late. Clever goblin eyes picked out the chinks in his formidable steel plate, and cunning goblin fingers sent cold metal piercing through those gaps; in a hail of goblin arrows, Domas cried out and fell, never to rise again, hammer and shield falling from his lifeless grasp as his lover and friends looked on helplessly, in horror.

Dodok was never quite the same after that. She threw herself into every sparring match; soon she surpassed poor Domas in mastery of arms, becoming one of the mightiest soldiers of Complexgate. Yet perhaps she worked too hard; it was not at the hands of goblins that she met her end, but her fellow dwarf and friend, the morose Hammer Lord Rith Rithodgub, who accidentally struck her down while they sparred. Rith had lost his own lady love, Ber Rithkodor, to the goblins before killing one of his remaining friends. Already inclined to sadness and melancholy, Rith lives on, though almost all of his comrades from the old days have perished in battle, and the thin-bearded striplings who have taken their place cannot understand why his voice quivers sometimes, and his hands shake pathetically when they are not clutching hammer and shield.

The Situation Worsens

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

invasion of the ratmen

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

A harsh winter

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

A small problem

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

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

The Dog Dwarves of Inktin

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

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

They really do love their dogs at Inktin.

Parabolart's Carpenter

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

You could sell it. Gairabad 23:17, 10 November 2008 (EST)

The Lunatic Child

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

My First Fortress

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

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

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

-- Doctor Zero (Aug 21, 2006)

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

The Secret Desire

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

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

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

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

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

The Tragic Miner

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

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

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

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

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

Olon the Kinslayer, leatherworker of Yore

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

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

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

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

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

Olon Erethseneb has created Kessoshosh, a dwarf leather leggings!

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

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

The Goblin Siege

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Doom That Came to Ghostgates

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

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

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

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

Town Astebkol

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

The First Siege of Astebkol

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

The Second Siege of Astebkol

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

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

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

The Third Siege of Astebkol

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oddom versus the Crocodile

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

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

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

Ingish Nailswords' Departure

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

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

Until the day the madness came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, all was silent.

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

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

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

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

The Real Story

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

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

The Transmuted Greaves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kerligmosus

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

Chronology of Kerligmosus

The Strange Case of Oddom Ulingmosus

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

How the Ultra-Mighty Have Fallen

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

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

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

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

Batmen meet Wile E. Coyote

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

Yes, very serene

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

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

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

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

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

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

The madness of the Legendary Mason

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

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

I got better!

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

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

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

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

(Probably a bug, but hilarious)

Team Animal Squad

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

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

Horses.

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

Until the Doggie Brigade arrived.

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

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

The Stampede

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dark day

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

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

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

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

This is a bad day for the dwarves of Urdimidok.

Genius Does Not Float

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

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

Ruspmon, "The Eternal Plane"

All the stories of Ruspmon are listed here.

The Foul Masterpiece

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To this day, the biscuits remain untouched.

The Lucky Trapper

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Stand of the Ratmen of Akrulbudam

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

Fortress Paintrag

The archived log of the long-lived Fortress Paintrag.

The Colossus of Otambomruk "Nosewhip"

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

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

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

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

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

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

We fought.

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

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

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

A Carpenters Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The War of Hoof and Horn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 ==="A Touch Warm" Indeed===
 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 <i>during the fire</i> 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 ===
+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. No 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.
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 [[Category:Humor and stories]]