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Dwarf Fortress => DF Community Games & Stories => Topic started by: Urist_McArathos on July 25, 2011, 10:42:33 pm

Title: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 25, 2011, 10:42:33 pm
On the Nature of Dwarves

A study of the dwarven race, compiled from the notes of the legendary sage Nimir by the work of Althor the Narrow, scholar of Triador

ASSEMBLER'S FOREWORD: I was tasked by the Triadoran Senate to compile a set of books for study by its ambassadors on the various races and nations of our known world.  Naturally, the priceless knowledge contained within the sage Nimir's personal library at Starhelm was my first choice for learning what would be needed to accomplish this task.  The sage, always eager to help spread the accumulated knowledge of his life's journeys, was quick to respond to my request for access to his library, though he informed me he would not be on hand to aid in the task.  He had chartered a ship for the Kerish Isles, and was intending to travel even further east, as pirates there frequently told stories about a strange land further out in the ocean that he dearly wished to explore for himself.  I was thus left with only the sage's numerous ledgers, journals, notes, and musings to work with, but no sage to direct my understanding or transcriptions.  I have done my very best to present the information found at Starhelm in an orderly manner and as complete as possible.  My own opinions and additions (beyond slight reformatting and rewording to allow the miscellany of his work to fit together cohesively) will be clearly marked in the text that follows.

Introduction

Why are dwarves the way they are?  We humans see a race of short, stocky, bearded folk who seem to love nothing in this world more than drink, digging, and violence.  Indeed, to the lesser lived races such as man, they are utterly impenetrable: an enigma wrapped in a beard, their behavior incomprehensible and at times frustrating to ponder.  Were we more narrow-minded creatures, we might suppose that dwarves are a race that care nothing for the outside world except to confound it for daring to try to make sense of them.  This is altogether an unfair assessment, as I learned firsthand.  I was privileged to spend a great deal of time among them, and feel it is my duty to share what I have learned.  I do this that my fellow man may at last understand our subterranean allies.  The simplest way is to simply begin with the dwarf himself, and move upwards from there to more complex issues.  As for the dwarf itself, we shall proceed in a similar manner: start with the most superficial aspects and gradually move inwards to his very core.

Physiology

Dwarves are an unusual race to behold at first, and one marvels at them at various times for their seemingly incredible differences in physical being.  However awe-inspiring the dwarven physique may be to a lay observer, dwarves are not like dragons: there is nothing magical or supernatural about their form and essence that lends them their features.  Like man, dwarves are a mortal and mundane race though, also like man, one that is truly remarkable in said form and essence.

Your typical dwarf is approximately three and a half feet to four feet tall, not quite half the size of a man but substantially shorter even at their tallest.  Dwarves are broadly built creatures, stout and sturdy and easily weigh as much as a full-grown human despite their reduced stature.  Their limbs tend to be stout as well, thick with well-defined musculature.  One notices, as a matter of course, that they tend to be hairier than humans.  The body hair of a dwarf male is easily visible, and though their females, like ours, have less of it and finer hairs at that, they too are noticeably hairier than a human female.  Dwarf males are famous for their long, thick beards and mustaches.  Both men and women tend towards long hair that is also thick and lustrous.  Rumors persist of bearded dwarven women, though I must state I've never seen any.  I presume this to be simple bigotry and slander against them, perhaps perpetuated out of a desire to make them an object of ridicule.  I personally suspect the elves may be involved in this, but I digress.  Ed: Rumors of dwarven women bearing beards in other, remote and distant settlements cannot be verified, but the dwarves themselves will say nothing on the matter, as is typical of them on most dwarven matters.  I consider it an open question, though Nimir does not.  Regardless, it is fundamentally unimportant to the matters of diplomacy and understanding dwarves, and so I did not pursue the question further.

All of these are adaptations to life underground.  Dwarves have, over the long centuries, had to tunnel further and further and as such have become quite an athletic race.  Their muscles are both powerful and capable of incredible stamina; such is unsurprising in a race that bores through solid rock to build its homes.  It is said that a dwarf miner in his prime (which lasts considerably longer than a human's) can dig through rock as a man does through earth and soil.  I have witnessed this phenomena firsthand, and agree that the prowess of dwarven diggers is nothing short of breathtaking.  Their hairy bodies suit them well in the caves and tunnels of their homes.  The underground is a frequently dank place, shut off from the warm air and sun of the surface.  Creatures abiding in the deep places of the world find the world constantly a chilly and clammy affair, but the protective insulation of body hair traps their body heat while keeping dew from forming on their skin and leaching away their warmth.  The prominent, fleshy nose of a dwarf also helps to warm the air they breathe, further aiding in their comfortable existence in the deeps.  Many marvel at just how pitch black a cavern can be, and wonder how a dwarf manages to see in the deep.  It is said they have a cruder form of vision (like orcs and other fell creatures deeper beneath the world) that allows them to see in the most pitch-dark of places, albeit all is colorless and blurry.  I'm not sure what amazing feature of their eyes manages this, nor could I verify it as the cities I was privileged to visit kept well-lit public areas at all hours.  Lights were put out in private quarters for sleeping, and as such it was not the time for in depth questioning and examination. 

Much of the life underground is fungal in nature.  Hardly surprising; fungus thrives in wet and cold environments, and can grow and prosper without the life-giving sun or nutritious and soft soil that our surface flora require.  However, fungi are frequently toxic: any mushroom-harvesting provincial can attest to the sundry risks involved in that trade.  While we of the surface can avoid the issue with our abundance of crops, dwarves have no such luxury and must survive on the crops of the underworld, such as they are.  The centuries of constant exposure to the various mushrooms and lichens of the caves has strengthened their constitutions in remarkable ways.  The dwarven liver, I was amazed to learn, is much larger than a man's.  Perhaps almost threefold in size, and all this in a creature that is, at best, pound-for-pound man's equal in mass.  The liver is not just larger (which allows more function), but far more efficient and hardy than ours if empirical observation has anything to say on the matter.  Lesser toxins and foul substances are harmless to a dwarf, and even more potent poisons struggle against their hardy substance.  This allows them to safely enjoy their natural sources of food (I may point out here that it is not so toxic to kill a man, but humans among dwarves may find their stomachs in distress for some time until they adjust).  Naturally, this also explains another of the dwarf's most obvious traits: love of drink.  All creatures that taste the sweet effects of alcohol seem to enjoy forever after its artificial euphoria; dwarves are certainly no exception.  However, their immensely sturdy livers, great muscular mass, and natural fortitude against toxins all combine to make intoxication a great challenge.  Dwarves thus must partake of far more alcohol to feel its effects, and can enjoy much stouter brews and spirits than men as a matter of course.

How is it, one may wonder, that dwarves seem so at ease deep underground?  How do they seem to know so innately whether their path is level or askew, and how is it they can reckon with startling precision their depth below the surface?  Furthermore, how is it they seem to have a supernatural knack for discovering mineral wealth of all kinds?  The answer is found deep within the dwarf's mind.  It is no sorcery, but rather a remarkable adaptation that is so minute, the dwarves themselves only recently (by their reckoning) managed to understand it.  It is said that dwarves have metal on the brain, and this lay statement finds itself in unusually close proximity to the truth.  Dwarves do in fact have quantities of that most uncanny substance, magnetite, within their brains.  Now, study has revealed that this alone is not something unusual: divination has shown that most creatures seem to possess trace amounts of this reactive ore within the confines of their heads as well.  It is the concentration that is unique.  Most sailors know that a needle of magnetite, suspended correctly and handled with care, will invariable show the way North.  However, the presence of certain other metals and as-yet-not-understood phenomena can alter the reading, though typically this can be avoided with simple enough precautions.  The dwarf brain thus acts like a masterful version of the crude compass of the sailing ship; just as men can, with practice, discern their direction and facing through no external observations dwarves can do so as well.  It also appears that they can detect not just the direction to North, but also their angle relative to it.  The difference between their current angle and the angle they find normal tells them how far above or below they are from that comfortable point of reference and thus, via some basic mathematics, a rough idea of their depth or height.  In a world with no stars to guide them, this skill must be honed to precision.  Thus, reckoning their depth and direction becomes second nature to a dwarf, which is no doubt what allows them to detect valuable lodes of ore.  The complex way the metal ores interfere with their sense of direction must surely make them aware of their close proximity to those precious stones.  It is said that dwarves can sniff out a vein of iron or gold, but the truth is that it is perceived and pursued in a process far more wondrous and awe-inspiring than crude odors could manage.

((Next post: Dwarven Culture))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on July 25, 2011, 10:53:11 pm
This looks really interesting. Looking forward to more ^.^
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: ImBocaire on July 25, 2011, 11:05:36 pm
Dwarven biological brain-compasses?

Totally canon.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist Imiknorris on July 25, 2011, 11:16:40 pm
Oh god, the dreaded dwarven culture exposition. Can't wait.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: ImBocaire on July 25, 2011, 11:34:02 pm
I predict that the next installment will consist of the statement "Fuck if I know. On to the military."
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 26, 2011, 04:31:05 pm
((This whole thing is actually a bunch of notes of mine I used for writing a novel that's still in progress.  I've made a few adjustments for the Dwarf Fortress universe, but otherwise the same.))

Culture

Now that we know a great deal more about the body of the dwarf, we can begin to understand their unique way of life.  Clearly, biology affects society, and this is a tremendous part of the way dwarves live their lives.  As stated before, dwarves have a love affair with the drink, one that seems excessive even by the most immodest standards of humanity.  Is it that they are overly fond of merrymaking?  Surely, the grim and dour people that stare at foreigners from across their foam-headed mugs between wordless gulps cannot also be a race of jovial spirits.

That is not true, but the fondness for drink is not inextricably linked to a love of wenching and dance.  Alcohol is tough on the liver, and a dwarf starts out his life as tender and soft as any other newborn babe.  Mother's milk does much to nourish young into their adolescent years, but it nurtures rather than hardens.  A life that will doubtless be full of toxic fungi and noxious spores requires all the preparation one can manage.  To prepare their young for the hardy life ahead of them, dwarven midwives recommend that infants always be fed a portion of beer before any nursing at the breast.  The beer is said to toughen their stomachs, and a dwarf babe not fed the diet of beer and milk is said to grow up sickly and frail for years until the harsh fare of his homeland does the work his mother did not.  I cannot verify if this be scientific fact or homespun wisdom, as all the mothers I encountered adhered to this advice, as did the parents before them.  It certainly has the ring of truth to it considering what I have learned of their diet and lifestyle.  As one can imagine, this early exposure to alcohol only strengthens their tolerance for it.  Of course, alcohol serves yet another vital purpose that humanity, with our comfortable life above the rocks, cannot readily understand.  Water on the surface comes fresh from many sources: flowing brooks and streams, rains, the melting snowcaps of the peaks, rushing groundwater filtered through the aquifers; fresh water is an abundant resource for those of the surface world.  Venture below the earth, and you will find that water is far more precious.  Aquifers are a well digger's blessing, but a miner's bane.  Most dwarf settlements avoid them altogether.  Cave rivers are a startlingly rare thing, and most pools and lakes below ground are stagnant and still.  It is rare to find truly potable, clean water under the surface of the world.  Alcohol, on the other hand, is free of the filth and pestilence found in water.  One need only think of the confined nature of a cave to realize that an outbreak of cholera would be a disaster, and it is clear why beer is the drink of choice of dwarves.  Water is of course passable (and preferred for those who are ill or weak, lest the alcohol push their taxed systems too far), but it is considered a secondary option for reasons that, as mentioned, are quite clear to those who know what life underground is like.  Thus, dwarves are raised on alcohol by their nurturing mothers and later keep to it as an act of public health.  Is it any wonder dwarves are such legendary drinkers?  One does not praise a human for his ability to quaff water by the flagon.

Ornamentation and external displays of wealth aren't seen very often among dwarves; as a people, they tend to prize functionality and practicality.  Jewelry and guady displays are therefore usually seen as superfluous or pointless.  This is not to say dwarves do not make jewelry (for indeed, dwarven jewelers are undeniably among the finest alive), nor that they never wear it.  More to say that dwarven fashion and decoration tend to take other, subtler routes that more appeal to dwarven tastes.  Dwarven engravings and clothing are frequently decorated with geometric shapes and designs (fractals are popular with more skilled artisans), due to the dwarven love of mathematics (more on this later).  This is why hair styles, and beard styles, are extremely popular amongst the dwarves.  To a dwarf, a beard is a measurement of the individual in a very literal fashion.  Its length, color, thickness, and luster all tell details about the dwarf's age, virility, strength, and more.  Since loose hairs can easily become entangled or damaged, it is a practical matter to restrain long hair and beards.  For a dwarf, both male and female, intricate braids and weavings are a way to combine functionality, practicality, and fashion.  This of course is no surprise: beards are perhaps the most iconic feature of the entire dwarven race.

I had mentioned earlier that the image an outsider usually gets of dwarves is a stoic bunch, cold and gruff to all who attempt to engage them in conversation of any sort.  I had said that many walk away from such encounters convinced that things like joy and merriment are unknown to the dwarven people.  Nothing, of course, could be farther from the truth.  Dwarves as a rule are very private, but tightly bonded to their comrades (Ed: this is covered in more depth in "Society", later in the text).  Amongst themselves, celebrations and jovial affairs are as commonplace as any race, if not more so.  Dwarves are particularly fond of music, which often surprises outsiders.  Elves, after all, are considered the quintessential singers and musicians of the world, and it is easy to see why.  Their ethereal voices, higher-pitched melodies, and preference for strings and wind instruments makes their songs delicate and almost otherworldly, "the way music ought to be" one might assess.  As their ancient rivals, one would think dwarves thus have no love of music beyond the pounding of hammer upon anvil.  While it is true that one is unlikely to lose themselves in awe of a dwarven revelry in the same manner as elves, they excel in something that no race, not even the elves with their poetic abilities, can equal: the sung epic.  Dwarven music is a simpler affair musically: the basic song is something that can easily be remembered and repeated, but the lyrics and additional sounds are another matter entirely.  Dwarven music, as far as I can tell, always has an epic attached to it in some form.  Their songs detail their grand history, their successes and failures, their homes, families, and more.  To dwarves, if it's worth remembering, it's worth singing over mugs of beer among friends.  As I said, the basic song is easy to remember since the story must be told through it; however dwarves utilize instruments not so much to play the tune, but to punctuate the story.  Instruments are used in tandem with the sung story to help illustrate it: numerous drums might accompany a section on marches to war; angry strings may be used to heighten tension as a duel reaches a fever pitch; sorrowful woodwinds compell the listener to stifle tears as the song details a tragic death.  I suppose it can be best said: elves write songs by themselves, dwarves compose symphonies as a people.

Partying and celebrating go hand in hand with music (in that dwarven music is rarely heard outside a gathering of family and friends or more), but dwarves do not only gather to sing of their history.  Festivals are held for many occassions, and some for no reason at all.  Dwarven society, as I've said, is close-knit and is heavily structured; each member is intertwined with his fellows far more so than in human societies (and in stark contrast to elven society).  Partying, celebrating, and making merry are thus critical to ensuring that tempers do not flare, bonds of friendship and community are always strong, and that wrongs are forgiven.  A party can be held to celebrate a piece of good fortune, to commemorate a holiday or event of importance, to help wash away the distaste after a stern disagreement or falling out, or simply because it's been too long since the last party and everyone could use a good drink and a day off.

For dwarves, naming conventions are somewhat unlike our own.  Dwarves are of the belief that names are incredibly important: whether it be an individual, group, city, kingdom, mountain, or anything else, dwarves respect the importance of names.  Amongst humans, the conventions are fairly simple: parents name their children (typically in line with tradition, though sometimes not); groups name themselves according to their own purpose or reasons, cities are named by their founders, kingdoms by their rulers, and sites by those that discover them.  For the dwarves, names are typically entrusted to the great wisdom of the divine.  Dwarf tradition dictates that a dwarf is given their own first name (their dwarf name) by their parent, and inherits their clan name as a matter of course (typically, clans are named for their trade or a noteworthy event in the clan's formation or history).  All other names and titles are typically chosen by divine lot; this practice includes (with increasing solemnity and care in order of importance) all other things named by dwarves, be they cities, keeps, titles bestowed upon champions, rivers, etc.  The lots are cast, allowing the gods to influence which words of the dwarven tongue are chosen.  Once the casting of lots is complete, the chosen words become the name.  This seemingly random affair can saddle a person or place with some very odd titles indeed; however, closer examination has revealed that this may not all be chance and hokum.  Dwarves pride themselves on finding a meaning behind names, believing that the name thrust upon them by the divine is a hint to their own destiny.  Sometimes, the name ends up being a glance at the greater glory that awaits.  Sometimes, only after it is too late, does the cryptic meaning behind the name become apparent.  While it is true that some dwarven societies abide by this rules less so than others, substantial evidence suggests that at one point this was the norm amongst the dwarves, and only in the relatively recent (Ed: recent by dwarven reckoning) times have things changed.

It has been said by some that the dwarves do not produce great art.  Certainly, paintings and tapestries are not their strong point, but how is this unexpected?  What artist would create artwork that will mold and waste away in the dank of a cavern?  Dwarves do not shun traditional, surface-dweller artwork out of a hatred of aesthetics but (once again) out of a concern of practicality.  Dwarves treasure things that endure because of their society's focus on longevity (Ed: more on this later).  Stone, the element of their homes, is a readily available and simple item to be transformed into wondrous works of art.  Dwarves produce marvelous statuary, for example.  Sculpture is hardly an atypical art, so this alone would be enough to negate the opinion that dwarves are not artists, but there are many more examples.  The beauty of their jewelry and cut gems is unsurpassed and also fits well within the bounds of accepted art.  What of other things, though?  Does not a dwarf's beautifully enameled and engraved armor and weaponry count as art?  Dwarven metalwork is second to none in terms of quality, and is never as simple as posts and planes fused together for a purpose.  Engravings, minor details, and the aforementioned geographic shapes and figures are all used to decorate dwarven metal crafts.

What of geometry, and math?  I spoke of this earlier, and referenced it yet again.  Why should dwarves have any particular racial fondness for this study?  The answer is a rather simple one, once examined.  Dwarven society is rigid, as I have detailed (Ed: in the interests of clarity and cohesive structure, Nimir's lengthy dissertations on dwarven society's structure and laws has been moved to a later point in the document; this is why it has not been detailed yet despite this statement).  Dwarves are creatures of order, precision, and detail.  How is this not the mindset of a student of math as well?  Dwarves find the rigidity, predictability, and logic of math and geometry to hold a beauty unto itself.  Not unlike an elf admiring the growth of a tree or the movements of a fawn, a dwarf sees the complexity of a known equation or the interplay of shape and structures to be beautiful in its own right.  This is also why dwarves make such unsurpassed engineers.  True, we do not often think immediately of dwarves when we think of engineering.  We typically think of a gnome, peering over some piece of clockwork augmented with glamors and prestidigitations before unleashing his unique curio upon the world.  Certainly dwarves have no fondness for clockwork and gears, but they far outstrip gnomes in the field of engineering.  No, dwarven engineering is a thing of a grander sort.  Just as dwarves prize the community and value their common lives over the individual, so too are their engineering efforts a civic rather than personal thing.  Visit a dwarven city and marvel at its subtler yet grandiose engineering feats: the aqueducts which bring water and carry away sewage despite the absence of local water sources; the bridges and roads that move through the deep; behold the great mines, and the massive living areas, all perfectly chiseled and planned so as to prevent collapses or cave-ins; stand in awe at the splendor of architecture, and how dwarves manage to carve not just homes from the earth, but beautify their buildings in the same run.  The greatest capital of the dwarves is said to have a balcony for the coronation of the High King which opens out onto the summit, where the newly crowned monarch may behold the entirety of his realm, and yet stretches through corridors, stairs, ramps, and more all the way to the roots of the world, where no non-dwarf has ever tread.  This majestic feat of engineering and art shames the lesser races, who dare to hold up their infantile gewgaws and smears of paint upon cloth and dare to presume themselves artisans and craftsmen of legend.  The dwarves are not ostentatious or gaudy, as I've said before, but they do not need to be.  To them, the very incarnation of their prowess is literally all around them, and everywhere they go.

((Next update: dwarven society))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Pan on July 26, 2011, 09:34:36 pm
This... this has never happened before... Things in Dwarf Fortress actually makes sense?!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Sneaky Walrus on July 27, 2011, 02:16:20 am
Wow this is actually really interesting
more i say
MORE
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Demonic Spoon on July 27, 2011, 08:07:54 am
This is great. IIRC someone did do something like this before but that was quite some time ago but hell if I can remember the title. In any case its well written and a good read.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Karakzon on July 27, 2011, 08:41:00 am
posting to follow and read.

keep it up. you are brilliantly captureing dwarfdom.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: ImBocaire on July 27, 2011, 04:03:05 pm
If I may make one suggestion:

PLEASE break up your paragraphs into shorter segments. The default skin on these forums makes anything longer than a couple sentences at a time nigh unreadable.

Formatting aside, though, it's awesome.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Mangled on July 27, 2011, 08:35:48 pm
Great work even if the forum messed up the formatting a bit.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 30, 2011, 02:51:44 am
Society, Part I

If the behavior of a lone dwarf is baffling to us humans, the structure of their societies is altogether alien.  It's easy to see why dwarves seem such a dour and unhappy people, utterly slavish to their draconian laws and incapable of understanding our world just as we are incapable of understanding theirs.  As before, a little thought on the matter can do wonders for making the murky and opaque issues clear and crystalline.

Elves say (only half in jest) that the only difference between dwarves and rocks is that rocks change their minds slightly more often.  It is perhaps a slightly insulting statement, but there is some truth in it: dwarves are, indeed, a race of great tradition that is hesitant to change or vary from the norm.  Why is this?  Is not change, growth, and understanding a part of life?  What is learning, if not examining one's position now and altering it based on what one has seen and experienced over time?  We know that dwarves learn; how else could they master the myriad of arts and talents they command?  So, why is it that they seem so stubborn and resistant to change in other areas?

One must consider the dwarven city before one can understand dwarven laws.  Dwarven cities are carved from the very stone, deep inside the mountains they call home.  This doesn't seem to be much of an indicator on the surface; is it possible that living among rocks and stones makes one behave like them as well?  Absolutely not; this is an absurdity, and one that would be laughed out of any proper forum of science.  Such thoughts are foolhardy even by country standards.

A dwarven city is confined; mining operations are expensive, difficult, and time consuming in spite of the natural talent of dwarven miners.  Consider that every project, no matter how large or small, must take into account the local geology, the weight and distribution of weight of the surrounding buildings, the prescence or absence of veins, and so on.  While for humans, building a new home is as simple as finding a spot of land unoccupied by any other and proceeding, for dwarves a project cannot begin simply because nothing else currently occupies that particular chunk of rock.  The interconnected and tightly-built aspect of dwarven cities means that every action that can affect the city as a whole must be scrutinized and regulated for the safety of the community.  To ensure that things are fair and consistent, laws must be written to handle a far larger number of scenarios and issues than humans normally have to resolve (there is little fear of a well needing to be dug through a farmer's bedroom for example, or a mine cropping up where a bartender digs his wine cellar).

This is also why the family unit is so tightly connected amongst dwarves; a new level or room cannot be added on readily for any given marriage or childbirth.  Dwarves frequently have to utilize common sleeping areas and communal living spaces for long periods of time until additions can be safely planned and added to the city proper.  Dwarves have little in the way of privacy; it's common for children to live with their parents, who sleep in alcoves across from their grandparents.  The whole family may share a single "bedroom" that is actually a number of holes in the wall for beds to be placed, with privacy curtains to give individuals (and couples) a moment of peace from their relatives.  Dwarves thus grow accustomed to close quarters throughout their lives: bedrooms are shared with relatives, dining halls shared with the clan, workspaces and public areas shared with the city as a whole; even individual graves a foreign concept.  How can one be buried in the soil when the nearest patch of dirt is a league above one's head?  No, communal catacombs are dug to house the bones of the passed.  As with any other project, the need to plan and consider the city as a whole means that only the most important of dwarves can be granted a personal tomb; even in death the dwarf has little space to call his own.

It is the same with possessions; so little room to spare means that storage space is also at a premium.  Frequently, everything besides the clothes on his back and a few cherished possessions are the property of either his family, clan, or city.  A dwarf must choose wisely what he calls his own; considering the premium he places upon space and the tendency for all things dwarven being made to last, it is no surprise that most dwarven possessions are cherished heirlooms.  So, with so little personal space, and so few things to call one's own, how does a dwarf cope?  How can a dwarf handle such a communal life?  The answer lies with their gruff and distrustful nature.

A dwarf's only true private sanctum is the inner workings of his mind.  It is the one space that never must be shared, where one's thoughts and opinions can be given freely, and one's imagination can run riot, free of the tedium of laws and bureaucracy and the needs of others.  While we humans can be quite free with our words, opinions, and the inner workings of our mind, it is a different matter with dwarves.  Consider the basic approach to an unhappy friend: a human would start by asking "What is on your mind?", and then helping this friend to resolve the issue troubling them.  Amongst dwarves, this would be unthinkable; a friend would never dare to force his way into the privacy of another's mind.  It is the one place he can truly call his own, and its sanctity is of paramount importance.  This is also why dwarves are so private and gruff amongst outsiders: to them, calling another a friend; trusting them with your thoughts and opinions; allowing them to see you as you really are, rather than as how you must be when conduction business; these things are precious, for once given they cannot ever be taken back.  It is a rare thing for a dwarf to call a human "friend", or to admit his emotions and feelings on a matter.  It is the sign of a great bond between them.  To dwarves, it is also the most fitting gift; after all, what are gold or baubles for gifts among a race that can literally pave their streets with precious metals, and pane their windows with gems?  It would be as a human giving a loaf of bread to a lifelong friend.

I spoke earlier of the many laws in dwarven society: dwarves has laws to govern many things in their lives, and order is of great importance to them.  They are a people who prize tradition, stability, and order, and their laws exist to protect these things.  Humans tend to think of laws as a list of things that cannot be done, whereas dwarves see them as a guide outlining what should be done.  This fundamental difference is due to the dwarven emphasis on the safety of the city and the community first.  New homes and caverns cannot be dug out with ease, and the damage that can be done from rogue behavior has the potential to be catastrophic.  The laws exist not to bar certain undesirable behaviors (as with humanity), but to shepherd the people of a community down the path that they, as a whole, must follow in order to prosper.  This need for society as a whole to follow the laws and regulations means that law enforcement must be particularly swift and strong to deter offenders.

Normally, isolation and revocation of alcohol is enough to do the job: a dwarf separated from his fellows and forced to subside on the stagnant cave water and harsh underground fare soon grows lonesome.  He remembers fondly the communal meals, the sound of epic songs being sung, and the clean, refreshing taste of his proper meals.  The isolation also gives him time to reflect on his actions, and how they jeopardized the community as a whole and how to avoid them in the future.  Upon release, most convicts find themselves overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of joy: the return to proper dwarven society means an end to their treatment and the re-acceptance of their brethren.  Jail time is the preferred, but prohibitively luxurious, solution to the need for justice.  Jails, after all, require planned excavation, supplies, chains, guards, and food and drink to be prepared and hauled to the cells.  For obvious reasons, it's rare that the jail can find itself close to the kitchen and stills.  Only the most developed and strong of cities can manage a jail.  The alternative step is corporal punishment: the swift administration of a few blows to the offender allows the matter to be resolved quickly and efficiently.  For many, this is the ideal.  Dwarves are stout, and handle physical punishment better than humans on the whole.  Also, most dwarves find the idea of locking away the offending party and leaving them in a cell is both counter-productive and a detriment to the city, and unnecessarily cruel.  As said before, the need for a city to consist of friends and close family living together in harmony is crucial to success in such tight quarters; many dwarves feel prolonged incarceration only serves to deepen resentment and bad blood between the parties.  Better to take the beating, and shrug the matter off with a drink.  While some smaller communities rely upon whatever provincial law enforcement they find to handle the matter, more important outposts have a royal officer attached to their system of justice: an individual trained in proper administration of corporal punishment and the nuances and breadth of dwarven law.  Such a professional is a slavishly dedicated, frighteningly well-versed, but ultimately necessary part of a thriving dwarven community.\

Why such draconian measures?  Is a dwarf city really in need of such vigilance?  The answer is evident if you have considered the numerous factors at play in sustaining it.  I have covered exhaustively the dangers of structural damage to the intricately mined, engineered, and sculpted dwarven cityscapes, but there is more.  Dwarves rely upon their agriculture as much as humans, but space is ever at a premium.  Farms must be carefully maintained, harvested promptly, and tended relentlessly to ensure that every possible morsel grown is acquired.  Livestock that can be safely bred and raised in the underground is a rarity, and requires yet more space that can only grudgingly be given.  Waste is anathema to dwarven existence, as is wanton destruction or ignorance of the laws that have been written with prosperity in mind.  A poor harvest among humans can lead to hunger, starving out the weaker elements of society.  A poor harvest among dwarves can lead to starvation, a crippling alcohol shortage (due to a lack of fermented crops), which leads to water consumption (of frequently stagnant or polluted sources), which can further lead to an outbreak of cholera or dysentery, which can devastate the city in ways not normally seen among humans except times of war and siege.  Dwarves are strict not because they hate freedom, but because the city requires greater dedication and sacrifice to function.  Certain liberties surface dwellers take for granted are simply not possible in a society as intricately linked as the dwarven one.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Lysabild on July 31, 2011, 09:20:32 pm
Good stuff.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on October 09, 2011, 07:24:11 pm
Society, Part II

The dwarves have a great love of longevity.  It should come as no surprise that dwarves, as a race that live amongst things as ancient and enduring as the mountains would prize objects that can stand the test of time.  However, there are a number of practical reasons for this as well.

As mentioned earlier, personal space is at a premium for the dwarves.  This is true of the individual, the family, the clan, even the city as a whole.  With space so difficult to come by, it must be closely managed and prioritized.  Dwarven fungiculture must be carefully controlled, as mushrooms and fungi are more delicate to farm than traditional plants.  After the harvest is brought in, the food supply is of critical importance and receives priority of the storage space.  After food, the various industries that allow a settlement to thrive stake their claim on what storage space remains.  This process continues in descending order of importance until the already-confined space of the city is exhausted.  It is crucial, therefore, for space to be utilized to the best and most efficient ability of the dwarves, and for nothing kept to be a waste.  There simply isn't space for junk, clutter, or spares.

The nature of their storage forces dwarves to create goods that will endure the test of time, so that they do not need to worry about spare parts and replacements cluttering their store rooms.  A human may see no issue with, for example, keeping a shed of picks and shovels for mining close at hand in case any number of catastrophes or absent-minded clumsiness should strike.  For a dwarf, this kind of waste is unthinkable.  A room large enough to function as a human's shed could easily be a new sleeping quarters, or hospital alcove, or addition to the catacombs, or a small armory for a guard-post, or any number of other more critical functions than a closet for junk to gather dust.  For this reason, everything a dwarf makes must be sturdy, well-built, and enduring.  The lack of extra supplies means that the dwarves cannot count on a replacement being close at hand, and the extreme length of their lives compared to humans means that "built to last" means a working lifespan of centuries.

Although they may deny it, boasting that they were expert artisans since time immemorial, there had to have been a point in dwarven history where their tools broke frequently and they were constantly having to endure hardships as they improved.  Those years are long since dead and forgotten.  Today, a dwarf miner heads off to the mines with a pick his grandfather once carried to work; above him smiths hammer away and toil at forges and anvils that predate their oldest kin by centuries; the guards spar and practice with weapons so ancient, they have their own names, kills, and legends.  Amongst dwarves, a new tool or device, regardless of how well-built or carefully crafted, is not considered "well-made" until it has survived decades of flawless operation and use.  This is the reason dwarves are so quick to dismiss human crafts as "shoddy".  In fact, it is said that the dwarven word for "flimsy" or "crude" is a synonym for "man-work".  Elves, with their preference for soft, flammable, splintery wood are considered a laughingstock by the dwarven race.  "Elf-work" is an insult so deep and cutting that blood-feuds can be started by applying it to one's creation.

Naturally, well-built and sturdy tools eliminate the need for a great repository of spares, back-ups, and replacements.  This frees up room for storage of food, booze, ingots of metal, and trade goods.  However, a side effect of this is that once a tool is sturdy enough to survive a century or two of use, it typically is sturdy enough to survive indefinitely.  I have already mentioned that dwarves of today routinely work, fight, and make merry with tools and instruments that predate their great-grandparents.  After a few generations have used and handed down an item, it ceases to be a well made tool and becomes a treasured family heirloom.  Amongst humans we can relate to the great ceremony of receiving a father's prized possession, made even more precious if there is a story about how many generations back the item's lineage extends.  Consider then that amongst dwarves, even an axe or hammer passed from father to son has nearly a century of use behind it (almost three generations or more by human standards), and that most dwarves are the recipients of heirlooms nearly a millenia old or more, and it easy to see that to them these heirlooms are beyond priceless.

A dwarf will tend to such a prized possession with the greatest and most tender of care and maintenance.  This, of course, only extends the lifespan of the venerable item, which only enhances its intrinsic value amongst the clan.  The oldest of the items of a clan are artifacts that speak to the hopes, dreams, and thoughts of its creator, and have seen use throughout the clan's history.  Many are legendary items that are tied to the greatest events that a given clan or settlement has ever seen, and are in a sense living legends and a link to their past.  Stories in the great archives of the dwarven people detail legends about breastplates, weapons, and more of the greatest of dwarven heroes and their cities.  The connection between their deeds and their relics is obvious even to us humans, who build great museums to house our ancient curious and finds.  How much more valuable, then, are the treasures of a race as storied and ancient as the dwarves!

Of course, such attachment comes at a terrible cost.  Dwarves do not handle loss well, and the tale are many of the woes that come from lost heirlooms.  Dwarven soldiers will refuse to fight with "superior" weapons once they have become attached to their precious legacy weapons, and many a soldier has stoically gone into battle against a foe with a weapon that had little hope of making meaningful contact rather than dishonor their family by casting aside great-grandfather's cherished axe before it cleaved it's five-hundredth goblin (as was his dying wish).  Smiths and masons who toil to create the perfect masterpiece have been known to fall into deep depressions and even lash out physically upon hearing that something upon which they bestowed their greatest care has been destroyed by cirucmstance or unhappy chance.  There are also tragic tales of despondent, grief-stricken relatives who throw themselves directly into the path of certain death against foes in the heat of battle in a desperate bid to recover a priceless relic or heirloom that a fallen soldier carried into battle, lest it be lost forever by looters.  Such madness seems impossible to human observers, but amongst dwarves, who can fault the relatives for their efforts?

When a son or daughter is lost, the clan loses a member.  When a seven-hundred year old axe is lost, the clan loses its last true connection with countless ancestors and their deeds.  It is like a part of their entire history and identity is gone for good.  Death may certainly seem preferable than the loss of such a great and important heirloom.

((Next: home and family life))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Gizogin on October 09, 2011, 08:56:51 pm
This is amazing.  The amount of thought and detail that must have gone into this is incredible.  Keep it up!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Karakzon on October 10, 2011, 03:15:44 am
Bravo dear and gentle Sir Dwarf Urist_McArathos
when this is done i hope it gets put in the hall of legends.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on October 10, 2011, 03:36:07 am
Feel free to nominate it now, because I'm not sure when I'll feel ready to call it finished, after all.  There's plenty to write about dwarves for the moment!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on October 10, 2011, 02:07:04 pm
Home and Family Life

Dwarves are communal creatures; the notions of privacy and personal space are very different amongst the dwarven people.

Dwarves tend to live in large residential halls, where they can be conveniently close to their recreation areas, like the dining halls, taverns, and common pleasure areas like statue gardens and zoos.  Efficiency is at the heart of any dwarven endeavor, so the architects behind their great cities see no need for the people to live in far-flung locales or bizarre arrangements. 

In poorer and less established settlements, personal bedrooms and living quarters are unheard of; a room is typically dug out, with beds placed throughout so that anyone who desires some sleep can rest in the dormitory between work and play.  This single rest hall is usually more than enough for small settlements and outposts, and it can be rare to see more than this until a city begins to enjoy true prosperity and growth.

As a settlement grows, individual rooms become more frequent; at first an entire clan might share a single dormitory and dining hall, then as the settlement grows (and the clan's numbers swell), the clan's holdings might be expanded to allow the creation of living quarters shared by entire families.  Only in the largest and most lavish of places are dwarves granted their own, private quarters.  Nobles and leaders of all stripes typically demand a private bedroom as a reward for their greater service.

In a human settlement, a home typically must fill the functions of bedroom, family common area, kitchen, and dining room all at once.  Among dwarves, of course, a simple three-room home would be a royal mansion.  The simplest of dwarven private quarters are small alcoves with just enough room for a bed, cabinet, and chest for personal belongings and clothes, sealed with a door.  In truly tight spaces, two quarters may even share the door and simply have a long wall separating their rooms.  The wealthiest and roomiest of cities rarely provide more room than this; perhaps enough space for a table and chair, but little else.  There is just no need, amongst dwarves, to waste more room on their living areas.

As can be inferred from my statements and observations thus far, dwarves are extremely family oriented.  Meals and drinks are typically taken in the vast dining halls, where the dwarf will typically meet with relatives and clan mates for regular meals and idle chatter.  Since dwarves spend so much of their time together, socializing in these common areas, they tend to be the largest, most lavish places in the settlement.  Many dwarves feel a great sense of comfort and joy relaxing in their dining halls and commons.  The great, open areas, well decorated with good food and drink in abundance, make for great times amongst the people.  Their commons and dining halls are therefore quite lively places; coupled with the fact that dwarves find many causes for celebration in their close-lived lives, and you will rarely find a quiet hall.

The dwarf society is entirely family based: a dwarf is a member of his family, families are linked through marriage and blood to clans, and clans are linked through mutual coexistence (and sometimes marriages) into a single kingdom.  Your typical dwarf has a given name from his parents, a divine name (Ed: this would be the name chosen through divine lot discussed culture earlier), a family name, and a clan name.

Families are just like their human counterparts: at some point in the past, a married couple was considered the start of the family tree, and the family name is passed down through male children.  Females remain part of their family only so long as they are single; they take on the family name of their husbands and become part of that family thereafter.  Since most dwarf families tend to be small (the space for children is a perpetual concern which, coupled with their immense lifespans, limits breeding), families rarely have more than a dozen or so members at a time spread out across two to three generations.

Clans are linked through mutual marriages and blood ties, and frequently through similar trades.  At some point in a clan's history, a particularly noteworthy family or dwarf rose to prominence, such that other families in the same settlement or trade sought to become part of them through marriages and sworn bonds.  Clans therefore are a collection of families with a central unifying trade or feature: they may be miners, or smiths, or other professions.  Sometimes they are soldiers, merchants, or even more esoteric pursuits.  Amongst humans the line between guilds and relatives is distinct, where amongst dwarves it is less clear, often completely overlapping.  Families within clans tend to intermarry and work together to protect their trade or craft.  Clan names are chosen from the great event or patron that founded their clan.  An example: one particular military clan I had the chance meet was called the "Skullhammers", so named because the great patron and founder of the clan allegedly broke his hammer during a seige, and rather than flee or die he ran the sundered haft through a troll's skull and rip the head clean from its body.  He then continued to wade into slaughter using the troll head on a stick as his weapon against the goblin horde.  His proud relatives and suitably impressed peers immediately sought to join with this paragon of dwarven slaughter, and a clan was born.

Since trade and craft are inextricably linked to family and clan, dwarves consider their work a point of personal pride.  A dwarf smith's swords are not just a reflection of his own talent, but a reflection of his entire clan's abilities and prestige.  It must not just live up to the reputation of the clan, but seek to improve it wherever possible.  Amongst humans, apprentices and journeymen follow a master and learn their trade from this experienced soul before moving out on their own.  Among dwarves, seasoned and venerable relatives first teach the young dwarf, before he is considered ready to learn from the finest mentors of the clan as a whole.  Afterwards, he is considered ready to practice his trade and earn a name for himself within the clan, eventually becoming a tutor and (if talented enough) respected mentor for the generations after him.

Dwarf clan leaders are the elders of their extended families; both men and women can become heads of the clan (Ed: dwarven society is more egalitarian than most human ones, so one is advised never to assume a female dwarf is the servant, spouse, or handmaiden of a superior, lest the wrath of a terrible foe be earned).  Clan leaders typically govern their trade in a city, and work with the city's leaders to ensure its prosperity.  The title for a clan leader literally translates as "grandfather" or "grandmother", while ordinary grandparents are typically only addressed by informals that would translate as "grandpa" or "papa", and likewise for the female (Ed: dwarves are highly secretive about their language, so it is impossible for me to provide the dwarven words here, nor cross-reference this statement.  It should be assumed to be true).

((Next: Nobility and rule))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: noodle0117 on October 11, 2011, 12:48:09 am
Someone should upload this onto the DF wiki.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: EmeraldWind on October 11, 2011, 09:45:39 am
Wow. This is some excellent insights into the dwarven enigma.

Anyone who is going to try to write in-character for a dwarf ought to give this a read.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Karakzon on October 11, 2011, 12:38:40 pm
ive voted for this on hall of legends.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Paulus Fahlstrom on October 11, 2011, 12:42:20 pm
I'll gladly second. Keep up the good work!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Masked_Hunter1825 on October 11, 2011, 10:50:21 pm
Noblity is next hm? "Nobles seem to attract magma on a regular basis after imprisoning someone who coulden't fufill their request for bismuth products."
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on October 12, 2011, 12:03:17 am
Foolish doubter; have I not explained in rich, detailed reasoning the cause of dwarves chasing recklessly out to strip the dead, feeding booze to infants, and naming their mountains Dimplemoist the Paints of Withering?
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Tiruin on October 25, 2011, 08:24:29 pm
I cannot say how much work I've seen in this whole thread, the detail and idea given to the dwarves and how they live and breath down to what goes in in daily life.

This is epic is all I can say and I yet fear that it might not be enough as my vocabulary in English is not that well-expanded.

You say you were making a Novel right? And you modified the notes to DF? That much be one good read.


Oh, and Welcome to the Hall of Legends! Please put a description as it is lacking one  :D .

Link in my signature.

That was a beautiful read. [/astounded]

Edit: 14 days since last post. This isn't Necro'ed right?

Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: The Master on October 25, 2011, 09:29:00 pm
necroing is like...a month.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Tiruin on October 26, 2011, 02:56:06 am
necroing is like...a month.

Now I understand.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Zaerosz on October 30, 2011, 07:23:18 pm
This is glorious and I desperately hope it will be continued.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: The Master on October 30, 2011, 07:34:48 pm
Just an FYI: On the Nature of Dwarves is still active...not finished yet :)
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: NotPete on November 02, 2011, 12:38:34 pm
Well this is just sweet.
Someone should upload this onto the DF wiki.
I second this.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: RabidAnubis on November 20, 2011, 12:53:55 pm
Perhaps it should be part of the Axedwarfs dictionary?
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Reudh on November 21, 2011, 09:18:26 am
This is amazing! I am eagerly awaiting the next piece.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: kerlc on November 21, 2011, 11:22:48 am
for these epic studies of dwarfdom, the high council of awesomenes has awarded you A JOKER!
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: The Master on November 21, 2011, 11:55:27 am
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! YOU'VE ALSO WON A FREE TRIP TO THE ASYLUM!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNo9VHqsuuc&feature=related
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on December 27, 2011, 10:46:29 pm
Don't worry, it's not dead; it just takes some time between updates as I'm a bit picky with my quality.  Also, I work in the hospitality business, so from early October through to New Year's Day we're just nightmarishly busy with the holidays.  I'll have a lot more free time going forward.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: noodle0117 on March 08, 2012, 09:25:26 pm
Shameless necrobump.
We didn't put this into the hall of legends just for it to die out after three months of inactivity.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on June 14, 2012, 10:57:13 pm
Don't worry; Urist McArathos lost a family member to tragedy recently, but I'm coming back soon with an update.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Hugo_The_Dwarf on June 14, 2012, 11:02:47 pm
D:

No....
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on June 15, 2012, 12:34:01 am
Nobility and Rule

Dwarven government is a strange thing, on examination.  At first it seems so clear-cut: there is a king, petty nobles, mayors to oversee individual settlements, local law enforcement and overseers for various duties, and a set of laws, rigidly obeyed.  It would appear to the casual observer that a dwarven kingdom is like a more orderly, underground facsimile of our human kingdoms.  Such is far from the truth, however.

The human lands are set up in feudal fashion, with land as the unifying thread.  To state simply: the king owns all the land, and grants fiefs to nobles below him.  They in turn must fulfill obligations to him for the privilege of owning their own land.  To meet those obligations, they in turn grant land to nobles below them who are bound to certain oaths.  The matter continues down the line until one meets the lowest nobles who lord over landless peasants that must meet their own dues for the benefit of using land they do not own at all.

In the dwarven world, the concept of owning land is alien; what "land" is there to own?  The community digs most of their homes from the solid rock, and what caverns they reclaim are rigidly divided for the community's benefit.  This notion of debt and obligation does not work in a world where the whole must be considered before the individual.  In human lands, the king's individual rights as sovereign trump the nation's rights to use land as would best suit the whole, but in the dwarven world the king would be mad to state that his authority granted him the right to do as he saw fit with the cities he ruled.

In the dwarven world, there are both hereditary and appointed nobles.  Appointed nobles usually fulfill job duties within a given settlement, and may be replaced at the whim of the local lord or the community as a whole.  A given community usually has a Mayor, elected as the most competent member of the community, who handles directing the community's overall goals and plans and appoints other officials to assist in governance.  Most communities have: a Chief Architect who oversees expansion and modification of the tunnels and chambers; a Captain of the Guard or Sheriff who handles law enforcement and appoints guards to enforce the law (more established communities tend to have a Hammerer to aid in serious crimes) (ed: The hammerer will be discussed in greater detail in Crime and Punishment); a Minister of Labor who acts as a liaison between the Mayor and the leaders of the local clans to ensure that planned work from the government translates to actual performed labor from the relevant workers; a Quartermaster who oversees the supplies, stocks, and such of a community; a Militia Commander who oversees defense (and is typically aided by a Champion, a soldier of great repute; the Commander is usually a great leader or organizer while the Champion tends to be a veteran or skilled fighter that can train new recruits); and a Minister of Public Health who oversees the cleanliness of the fortress, the hygiene of its inhabitants, and the practice of medicine in the community.  Technically all of these offices are considered minor nobility, though Mayoral elections are held once a year and every adult in good standing is allowed a vote (children and convicts currently serving sentences may not vote).  The Mayor has the authority to appoint most every position here, but usually relies on the advice of the clan leaders and other advisors or currently serving officials before making a decision.

Hereditary titles are tied to a given settlement.  The King will watch as a new settlement grows, and in due time a representative of the crown will decide the small community has grown enough to merit its official inclusion into the Kingdom proper (prior to this, the community is ruled by a Mayor and before that however the settlers see fit; in either case it is technically an autonomous entity).  The clan leaders of the fledgling community will be given the chance to name one of their own as the official leader of the settlement, and this individual will become a Baron.  Baronies are hereditary grants over a community, and as such the announcement is one of great honor.  As a city grows and prospers the king may officially decree that the community, and by extension its noble leader, have become a greater source of pride and importance and thus warrant a higher rank.

Unlike in human feudal society, the rank of a noble has nothing to do with land grants.  It is an honor, a gift of greater prestige, and a great source of pride for a clan and the descendants of the one chosen.  At one point, in the distant past, the King was simply the first great leader to ascend in a settlement, and over time as more communities grew the king's importance grew as well.  Hereditary nobles are of course expected to see to the prosperity of their settlement, and to that end tend to work with the Mayor and clan leaders to ensure the community grows and improves further.

Both Mayors and hereditary nobles take their work very seriously; having been chosen by their fellows, in one manner or another, to be the leaders and guides of their city they have serious work ahead of them.  They have the authority to make laws and oversee the work and progress of the community, and do on occasion exercise this authority by making decrees and requests of the local labor.  Disobedience towards these leaders is akin to insulting the very law and order which shapes and molds dwarven society itself, so even when their demands seem impossible or in vain, the matter is handled all the same.

The laws are sacred in the dwarven world; their attitude of building things to endure stretches to their very laws and governance, so it is rare for their nobles to do more than make temporary decrees and proclamations to handle a (real or perceived) problem.  Though, in truth, any hereditary noble has the authority to pass new laws or revise old ones, they are loathe to do so unless it is painfully clear the old laws are ill suited, and will remain so indefinitely.  Even Kings, with the power to change the laws governing an entire nation, act rarely lest they ruin what was carefully refined over the course of centuries.

Locally, the clan leaders handle carrying out the will of the nobles, and do their level best to ensure the whims of their superiors are carried.  This approach of one dwarf being handed a duty and then seeking the right candidate for its assignment means that, at times, it isn't entirely clear who was to handle a task or is responsible.  This makes for an awkward situation when the work isn't completed and justice must be served.  It isn't uncommon for an unfortunate dwarf to be held accountable for a task or decree that they had no business dealing with at all, but the rigors of their society hold them responsible all the same.

((Next: Crime and Punishment))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: AustralianWinter on June 15, 2012, 04:44:17 am
This is awesome.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Zanzetkuken The Great on June 15, 2012, 10:00:50 am
Excellent writing, Urist_McArathos.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: exolyx on June 15, 2012, 06:50:16 pm
I have to watch this. Great writing.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: EmeraldWind on June 17, 2012, 11:56:14 pm
Awesome. Glad to see a new post.

This bit on nobles sort of makes me wish that politicians here in the US looked at their positions this way.
Honor and duty over prestige and money. Let's start a mountainhome guys! Where should we start digging?

;D

Honestly though, once this is finished up it should be included with DF as supplemental reading. This really gives
a nice feel for the dwarves. This reminds me of the preface to Lord of the Rings and the picture it paints of the hobbits.
Definitely worth the read.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Xenogenic on June 24, 2012, 03:57:58 pm
This is great stuff. Posting to watch.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Sprin on June 30, 2012, 09:53:34 pm
you have ansered questons that have perplexed me for some time.
my DF experince will be more pleserable.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Helgoland on July 18, 2012, 05:33:26 pm
Great read! If I ever write a story I'll take inspiration from this. Really like the idea of dwarven society as close-knit, traditionalist and at the same time egalitarian. Keep up the good work!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Frontestro on July 19, 2012, 06:32:39 pm
Keep them coming. I always enjoy a good read and this is by far as entertaining or even more so than most of the succession games in this section.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on November 02, 2014, 11:46:22 pm
Crime and Punishment

Amongst humans, crimes are violations of the law.  As discussed earlier, laws in human realms tend to be, largely, a listing of things which one cannot do because of their impact on the safety and harmony of the society.  In essence, rules are made to protect the entire society and its structure, and those who break those rules are criminals.  The contempt held for them is a result of their greedy desire to benefit from society's protection without upholding their end of the bargain, as it were.  They are, essentially, cheating the community as a whole.  Crime is then viewed as an insulting, dishonest action that works to the detriment of the society.  Punishment is largely a punitive matter: the individual is punished both to deter their behavior and satisfy the need of the law-abiding members to feel that the unfair actions have been corrected and debts repaid.  "Justice", among humans, is a concept of balance and righting of wrongs that is rooted in this basic contract.  The guilty party is made to suffer and repay (through fines, work, or the loss of their health and a portion of their lifespan) what they have taken or repair the damage their actions have done.  This all serves to ensure that a balance is maintained.  One repays what one takes; one gives in exchange for what one is given. 

Dwarves, as stated earlier, do not make laws for the same reasons humans do.  Dwarven laws are a guideline for what is acceptable, rather than a listing of what is prohibitive or unacceptable.  This means, however, that the social contract of dwarves differs in its fundamental nature as well.  While humans see laws as a way of deciding what one surrenders or repays for the benefits of society, dwarves do not consider the situation a trade or balance.  The harsh, demanding nature of underground life and the brutal warring and combat that forms the basis of much of dwarven society fosters a grimmer, more stoic view on the matter.  The dwarven community is of paramount importance, and all have a place to fill and a duty to uphold.  No, dwarven justice is not based on balance and exchange, but duty and obligation.  One follows the laws because one must, for the home.  One does what one must, and one demands others to do what they must in turn.  Justice among dwarves is not maintaining the balance; it is maintaining the integrity.

For dwarves, a criminal is someone who has rejected their obligations and abandoned their duties.  The severity of the crime can vary, as with humans, but the fundamental nature of crime remains the same: one has a duty, a purpose, or an order that has been ignored, defied, or otherwise rejected.  Dwarven society cannot long handle individuals refusing to do their part and obey the demands of those above them; it is not always possible to know why orders have been given or what purpose they serve, but the strain placed upon a subterranean society means that problems must be addressed swiftly and completely.  Just as humans place faith in their law enforcement to uphold the law fairly, so too do dwarves place faith in their leaders to guide them properly in accordance with the laws and not abuse their position of power and leadership.

As the nature of laws and crimes differs among dwarves, so too does the nature of punishment.  As discussed earlier, excessive supplies and space cannot be wasted in a dwarven settlement, limiting the building of jails and prison complexes.  Corporal punishment is not only a swift and humane (by dwarven standards) option, but also a corrective measure.  Humans marvel at the notion that a dwarf could be beaten by his peers, then a few moments later shrug it off and share a drink with those who beat him, but this is because of their different notions of justice.  A beaten prisoner has suffered pain and humiliation, but has contributed nothing back to the society in exchange for their crimes.  Dwarves are not interested in maintaining balance, as said.  A dwarf who has taken a beating has, essentially, been punished for straying from the acceptable course and set back on path.  The matter is resolved because dwarves are interested in maintaining integrity; the guilty party has been given direct consequences for their actions and is (presumably) back on the lawful path, thus resolving the matter.  Jail time is reserved for more serious crimes (along with beatings for more severe cases) to ensure the criminal has time to reflect and realize the importance of following the law and the severity of the danger their rogue behavior could bring.  This brings me in turn to the most unique of dwarven offices: the hammerer.

In human lands, the Executioner represents the final and most dire of law enforcers, charged with carrying out the most serious punishment upon the most grievous offenders.  Death is the only recourse for certain crimes, as the debt accrued by the guilty party is so great that only forfeiture of their very life is considered an acceptable repayment upon the harmed society.  As part of this sacred duty, the Executioner becomes well versed in how to properly carry out the sentence.

The dwarven analogue to the Executioner is the Hammerer.  The hammer is the oldest symbol of law and structure in the dwarven world: hammers are used to shape stone and metal in their world, and hold significant ceremonial importance as the item of society's very creation.  Thus, in preserving the structure of society by upholding the law, the hammerer naturally turns to this most ancient and respected tool for his duties.  Hammerers, like executioners, are called upon to handle the most dire and severe of crimes and pride themselves on knowing precisely how best to carry out their duties.  Death sentences are rarely handed out among dwarves, at least not in name.  The hammerer is charged with, in official wording, "Acting as the Striker upon the errant edges of the citizenry, and by direction of the Judiciary, remove or straighten those imperfections that the strength of the whole shall not falter when tried".  The similarities to smithing terminology are quite obvious and deliberate: the hammerer is there to fix the small problems in the blade that is society lest it break when its strength is needed most.  Consequentially, those guilty enough to deserve time with the hammerer are usually sentenced to a number of strokes that are deemed sufficient to "correct" the individual.  Typically no more than a dozen strikes are handed down (more than enough to brutally injure or cripple the unfortunate criminal), but in cases where an individual is deemed deserving of death, sentences can be far more grim.  Legendarily, in a case of treason where a dwarven noble nearly caused an entire city to fall to goblin invaders, the guilty noble was sentenced to "One hammer-stroke for each dwarf lost in the tragic invasion".  As the city had lost several hundred by the time the invasion was repelled, it was quite clear to all that there was no intention of letting the traitor survive this particular "correction".

((Next: War and the Military))
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on November 02, 2014, 11:58:06 pm
Good lord, it's back.

Hurrah Hurrah!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on November 03, 2014, 12:01:36 am
I'll take that as a sign you're glad to see me writing again.   ;D
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on November 03, 2014, 12:04:41 am
Very much! A lot has happened since you stopped. Emotions! Necromancy! Other things! I kinda got somewhat famous!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Baffler on November 03, 2014, 12:17:44 am
OP has returned! Eagerly awaiting more.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Tiruin on November 03, 2014, 02:41:23 am
Arathos! Glad to see you back! C:
Hopeful that RL is better and more stable now.

Hooray for this!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: StrangeMood on November 03, 2014, 02:46:37 am
Yes! Great stuff :)
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on November 03, 2014, 05:41:22 pm
Arathos! Glad to see you back! C:
Hopeful that RL is better and more stable now.

Hooray for this!

Indeed it is.  I've secured a hell of a good job, getting married soon, and starting to get out of debt.  All signs point to stability.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: arbarbonif on November 03, 2014, 05:44:53 pm
"Acting as the Striker upon the errant edges of the citizenry, and by direction of the Judiciary, remove or straighten those imperfections that the strength of the whole shall not falter when tried".
That is absolutely beautiful.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: 4maskwolf on November 03, 2014, 06:43:54 pm
Arathos! Glad to see you back! C:
Hopeful that RL is better and more stable now.

Hooray for this!

Indeed it is.  I've secured a hell of a good job, getting married soon, and starting to get out of debt.  All signs point to stability.
Huzzah!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: neblime on November 04, 2014, 12:59:19 am
Ptw  :D glad that this got bumped
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Sheo on November 04, 2014, 08:23:32 am
Ptw.

Can't stop listening to "Concerning Hobbits" in my head as I read this.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is based on Masterwork DF, right?

Also, would you mind if I tried to do the same thing, but with Goblins or Elves? I'm writing a novel myself, and would like to see if my writing still holds any edge.

In any case, keep up the good work, mate!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on November 04, 2014, 08:57:19 am
Ptw.

Can't stop listening to "Concerning Hobbits" in my head as I read this.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is based on Masterwork DF, right?

Also, would you mind if I tried to do the same thing, but with Goblins or Elves? I'm writing a novel myself, and would like to see if my writing still holds any edge.

In any case, keep up the good work, mate!

No, based largely off of my own tabletop RPG campaign setting with some modifications to fit into the vanilla Dwarf Fortress universe.

I have similar notes for goblins and elves, but they're much more campaign specific (my goblins don't build or organize in large groups, and my elves aren't quite as tree-fondling happy as DF, nor do they practice necro-cannibalism).  In either case, feel free!  I think it'd be fun to have a thing like this for all the major races.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Timeless Bob on November 06, 2014, 02:26:12 pm
Awesome. Glad to see a new post.

This bit on nobles sort of makes me wish that politicians here in the US looked at their positions this way.
Honor and duty over prestige and money. Let's start a mountainhome guys! Where should we start digging?

;D


Montana, just east of Missoula.  There's plenty of old logging roads that lead up to rugged pasture-land and the area's chock full of interesting minerals.  Besides, Montana's already got a state culture that allows for well armed militias living in bunkers , so "migrants" shouldn't be a problem either.
(http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/ce/e4/a7/cee4a70bb6ddb0231e66374013984341.jpg)
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Chevaleresse on November 10, 2014, 02:31:07 am
This is epic.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: pisskop on November 11, 2014, 06:47:57 am
What about migration?
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Splint on November 11, 2014, 09:37:55 am
PTW, because the next bit is my favorite part of DF.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dozebôm Lolumzalìs on December 12, 2014, 09:16:32 am
Now everything makes so much sense!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: palu on January 12, 2015, 11:47:17 am
This is amazing. Any progress on the next bit?
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: pondicherry on May 14, 2015, 04:02:35 am
I want this to continue and I want this in a printable pdf version...
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Iamblichos on May 14, 2015, 05:15:32 pm
So bitter this is a necro and not more content.   :'(
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Baffler on May 14, 2015, 05:19:55 pm
Well, dang.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dozebôm Lolumzalìs on May 14, 2015, 05:26:37 pm
DID SOMEBODY SAY PDF/DOC?!?

Yes!  Somebody requires the help of J. Woodward, Legen-  Err...  Proficient Copier!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dozebôm Lolumzalìs on May 15, 2015, 12:24:40 pm
Done!  Wow, that was fast!  And I hand-typed almost all of it, making sure that all the noticeable mistakes were fixed.  I'm uploading it to Dwarf Fortress File Depot as soon as I can, in .docx format, then I'm going to bundle it with the .pdf.  Actually, I'll probably bundle it first.

Edit: It'll be up soon, but my computer crashed, pushing the Estimated Time of Upload-al a bit further back.

Edit: Good, nothing was lost!  I'll have it up in a jiffy.

Edit: Here it is! At DFFD. (http://dffd.bay12games.com/file.php?id=10860)
By the way, is it fine to use DFFD this way?  I'd use something else, but they don't work.  DFFD works fine.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 02, 2015, 11:21:07 am
((Sorry for the delay all!  IRL has been busy since my marriage and a few other happenings, and I'm also starting work on my first novel.  I'll keep you all posted here as it develops!))


War and The Military

War, the greatest of conflicts and disagreements, is no foreign concept to the world of dwarves.  We here upon the surface make war whenever we find our interests, needs, and desires at odds with our neighbors and no other solution is considered feasible or advisable.  Be it a need for resources, removal of a threat, or irreconcilable cultural differences, war is the final solution to the problems faced by a given human society. (Ed: here Nimir waxes philosophical for some time on the nature and follies of war; while his views on diplomacy are certainly interesting, the lengthy tangent serves no real purpose in understanding the dwarves and has thus been removed from this treatise)

So, we have established why humans go to war: to obtain what they need.  Food, mineral wealth, land, peace of mind and security; whatever the society and its leaders demand and cannot secure within their own territory is the driving force behind war.  In any case, something is always gained in these campaigns, or at least the desire to gain something was the impetus behind the waging of the war.  What then of dwarves? We note that dwarves have never conquered an outside society to our knowledge: there are no tales of the dwarves marching forth to take the farms and fields of their neighbors, or to exact ruinous tribute upon those with wealth and resources they lack.  Yet even the most ignorant of rustic peasants is aware of the dwarves' predilection for weaponry and armor.  Tales of the superior nature of dwarven metalwork always include the near-mythic skill of their weapon smiths and armorers.  These grand, impressive tools of war are no decorative pieces either.  As discussed dwarves prize function foremost, and so even though form and beauty form an important part of their finest work the true dwarven artisan considers his creations worthless if they cannot likewise fulfill their intended function as well.

War is fought in the dwarven lands for much the same reason as laws enforced: restoration and maintainence of integrity.  In this case it is not threats from within that are handled (as law enforcement deals with errant citizenry that threatens the integrity of the whole), but threats from without.  Wars are punitive things, meant to demonstrate the power and might of the dwarven nation and so discourage their enemies from approaching.  The dwarf is a territorial creature, for the tremendous strain and limited resources provided in a life underground means that dwarves are far more concerned with protecting what they have than reaching for more.  Humans for example can risk a campaign to secure a new mine, city, or stretch of land because even if they fail all is not necessarily lost.  Granaries may be burnt and cities sacked, but homes can be rebuilt and food foraged, and the wide open nature of the surface means that endangered people have many ways to flee the coming attack.  In essence war is a calculated risk among men.  For dwarves, there is no such recourse: tunnels are only as wide, far reaching, and useful for escape as one makes them.  There are only as many escape routes as one purposefully digs, after all.  The inverse is likewise true: an invading army knows where the enemy might flee, or hide prized resources and caches, for there are only so many routes that lead away from the settlement and thus the next path to take is immediately clear.  The scant resources provided in caves also means that should a dwarven city be sacked and lose its supplies of food and drink, there is likely to be far worse starvation and ruin than humans would see.  A city without a granary is doomed to famine and hardship; a dwarven hold without a granary is a tomb.  Thus, the dwarven army cannot march forth on the motives of sheer greed.  The risk is so immensely high if they fail, only a threat to the kingdom itself is worthy of raising the army and sallying forth to conquest.

In short, we humans see war as an offensive matter meant to solve a problem facing us; dwarves see war as a defensive matter meant to save them from annihilation.  This is why nearly every dwarf has some manner of combat training, and the source of stories of humble peasants and miners suddenly turning on invaders with savage fury despite their status as a civilian. A dwarf at war in his tunnels is a cornered badger: short, hairy, and full of fury beyond the estimation of his size.  Tales are many of the end result of warring with the dwarves after all.  Though I cannot always sift myth and legend from fact, the stories themselves told by dwarves and men alike illuminate the nature of dwarven warfare and its brutal, harsh need to destroy the threat rather than "win" the spoils.  The tales themselves are perhaps ones you've already heard but no less suitable to demonstrate the point: the dwarven queen who personally slew hundreds of enemies rather than surrender; the dwarven high king who sailed across the sea to sack the elven capital, slaying the elf king and taking his crown as prize and proof of their terrible fury; the dwarves who returned, decades after their home was laid low, to bring death and ruin upon the fearsome creature that conquered their halls; the besieged miners who emptied the blood of the mountain itself upon the beasts and invaders that plagued them.  Whether truth or fiction, all have the same moral: Woe unto you who wage war with dwarves, for even should you triumph your reward shall only be blood and misery.  In none of those tales do the dwarves take land, demand tribute, or take on new subjects, for such is not the nature of dwarven war.

Dwarves speak of ancient times when they were not united as one people, but there is little record of those times.  Today the notion of many dwarven nations is a fairly curious one: are not all dwarves one, after all?  Yet we know that our fellow men are as divided as a race can be without descending into chaos.  Even elves manage to form disparate groups based on the philosophical differences between their cultues, yet dwarves are homogenous.  Dwarven tales tell that in those early times, the dwarves were united by the first high king, and thus it has remained since.  Changes in the monarch or even the dynasty have not resulted in new nations, for that would shatter the integrity of the dwarven nation.  As already mentioned, this cannot be allowed, for to dwarves as a whole the integrity and unity of their land is paramount and supersedes the individual in importance.  This is why a coup might be tolerated, but a civil uprising would be crushed by loyalist soldiers and neutral citizens alike: the kingdom could fall into irreparable ruin from such infighting, and thus it cannot be tolerated.

Thus, the importance and reverance of the military among dwarves is made clear.  The finest soldiers, champions of their people, are rather like petty lords (in fact, some argue that the translation for them is literally "War Lord" or "Weapon Lord").  They do no work, only spar and train, and yet none begrudge them their meals and beds.  In fact, many live quite lavish lives: they drink and eat when they please, sleep with their brothers and sisters in arms in spacious barracks rather than shared family alcoves, and all sing their praises in the halls and taverns.  The soldier is the strong, able arm that defends the home, and the finest soldiers are the greatest bulwark the people have.  It is no wonder then that the people happily allow them much less obligation outside of those duties, even if they spend nearly their whole lives without fighting a true enemy.  Miners dig, masons work stone, and soldiers fight.  It is not the miner's fault if the settlement needs no ore, nor the mason's if all has been built.  Sadly, the myriad dangers of the life below mean that a soldier who has not seen battle is as rare a thing as a dwarf can imagine.

Dwarven warfare is a fearsome thing on the surface; stout warriors who march forth, grim and inexorable in their approach, a solid wall of iron and steel that balks before nothing.  However, below the surface the fierce and brutal nature of tunnel fighting is a thing to behold.  I was, I hesitate here to use the word "fortunate" though I cannot find a suitable alternative, fortunate enough to witness such a skirmish during one of my visits, and can assure you, my readers, that it is a thing that would test the mettle of even the boldest human knight.  Crossbows, not relying on the high arcing shots that the longbows of our surface wars require, are the ranged weapon of choice.  Standing behind stalwart soldiers, bolts are fired upon the invaders while the dwarves themselves fight in tight formations.  Melees are brutal and bloody, and while the dwarves start any engagement as a disciplined phalanx, the tight confines and inability to maneuver and flank means that most fights become savage affairs where the enemy clambers and lashes to get beyond the front ranks.  Dwarves are trained to handle this, and thus every rank is ready to fight, vigilant of invaders coming from above and below as well as in front or behind.  Even a massive foe, such as a giant or the like, must be met with similar grim determination.  There is nowhere to flee, and thus the legendary courage of the dwarves stems from this singular convention.  One cannot evade an attacker, and to flee is to simply offer the speediest route to home and family to one's enemy.  Dwarves therefore learn quickly that fear must be replaced with stoicism.

Perhaps the best way to demonstrate how deeply ingrained this is into them is to compare a similar idiom.  Among humans, we call a "backstabber" a treacherous, untrustworthy type who exploits the helplessness of another; while a strong insult, it focuses upon the perpetrator rather than the victim of the stabbing.  It is the inverse with dwarves; the emphasis is upon the victim of the back-stabbing.  Among dwarves, to be "backstabbed" is an insult of a deep nature, for it suggests one is not just a coward, but a coward who prizes selfish desires over their people (for, as discussed earlier, a hold that falls to invaders will almost certainly be annihilated to a man, meaning flight from battle is a largely useless gesture), and thus has no sense of honor or duty.  It is one of the most cutting insults the dwarves can speak and has even been the source of blood feuds, which is why one hears it so rarely that humans have long lived under the assumption "beardless" was the worst insult they could offer.  Even in describing the insult to me, my dwarven hosts were extremely careful to couch their words lest another mishear them, so potentially devastating was the misuse of this phrase.  Even in describing a warrior slain in honorable battle from behind (by perhaps a sneaky enemy or sheer random misfortune), there is a distinct separate phrase used to ensure no insult is implied (roughly, it translates to "slain from the rear" or "behind-murder").  Visitors would do well to ensure they know the difference perfectly, for dwarves are loathe to forgive insults and transgressions of any severity as it is.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: pisskop on July 02, 2015, 11:44:08 am
<3
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on July 02, 2015, 11:44:51 am
Amazing as always.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Iamblichos on July 02, 2015, 12:32:54 pm
SQUEE!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Tiruin on July 02, 2015, 12:39:16 pm
((Sorry for the delay all!  IRL has been busy since my marriage and a few other happenings, and I'm also starting work on my first novel.  I'll keep you all posted here as it develops!))
I PM'd you a Happy Birthday and after your response, this comes out. Did I catch you/r mood before release? :3

Amazing work dude. :D
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Splint on July 02, 2015, 12:43:22 pm
Amazing indeed! It feels shorter than the others, though given the nature of it, I can understand why.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 02, 2015, 12:50:44 pm
((Sorry for the delay all!  IRL has been busy since my marriage and a few other happenings, and I'm also starting work on my first novel.  I'll keep you all posted here as it develops!))
I PM'd you a Happy Birthday and after your response, this comes out. Did I catch you/r mood before release? :3

Amazing work dude. :D

Quite!  I was sitting down with my morning coffee and working on the post, when I saw a new message.  Perfect timing all around.

I'm going through my notes to see what else needs to be added to completely finish this.  Perhaps I'll include a sneak preview of my book as well, if there's interest. 
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on July 02, 2015, 02:01:56 pm
Depends on what your book is about.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 02, 2015, 05:18:33 pm
I'm polishing two at the moment, which is part of why it's taking me longer (to avoid getting burned out I switch to one when I'm starting to hit a wall with the other).

The first is a traditional fantasy one, set in my homebrew setting.  The second is an adventure story, with both western and fantasy elements.  Sort of "Dungeons and Dragons meets Once Upon a Time in the West"

I have rough plans for follow up stories to each, if there's interest.  I've always loved writing, and after a solid 16 years of writing short stories, notes, and campaigns for my and my friends' amusement, I'm interested to see if anyone at large would like my work as well.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dermonster on July 02, 2015, 06:09:03 pm
Sounds interesting, I'd give it a shot.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Immortal-D on July 02, 2015, 07:03:39 pm
SQUEE!
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Tiruin on July 02, 2015, 07:19:20 pm
Quite!  I was sitting down with my morning coffee and working on the post, when I saw a new message.  Perfect timing all around.

I'm going through my notes to see what else needs to be added to completely finish this.  Perhaps I'll include a sneak preview of my book as well, if there's interest.
I got the imagery of an inspired author in that single scene. x)

+1 to Derm's post there.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Pencil_Art on July 03, 2015, 05:10:59 am
Quite!  I was sitting down with my morning coffee and working on the post, when I saw a new message.  Perfect timing all around.

I'm going through my notes to see what else needs to be added to completely finish this.  Perhaps I'll include a sneak preview of my book as well, if there's interest.
I got the imagery of an inspired author in that single scene. x)

+1 to Derm's post there.
+1
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 06, 2015, 03:24:13 am
Well, in that case, here's a sneak preview of my western-fantasy hybrid, currently under the working title "Gunslinger Stonebeard".

Let me know what you think, if you'd read more, and so on.

Prologue
   The sun rose above the prairie; the early twilight sky a bold orange and red as the sun eased its way above the horizon.  A pair of eyes peered out from under a bushy ridge of eyebrows at the blurry rectangular shapes on the distant foreground.  Mustache-topped lips curled into a sneer briefly before rolling together and spitting a glob of tobacco juice onto the dusty ground.  Boots scraped across dust and grit behind him. The ting of spurs chimed in the wind, though the still figure stared forward, motionless.  The footsteps stopped behind him, replaced by a brief sigh, yet still he studied the obscure features before them.

   “That there Flinthead Camp?”  The voice belonged to a youngish man with sandy brown hair matching his stubble.  He lifted a rolled cigarette to his lips after finishing his question, then dug through the pockets of his jeans.

   “Matches are in my war sack,” the watcher's voice was a tad gravelly, his eyes narrowing as the twilight brightened into a true dawn.  Shadows stretched long across the ground.  The younger man turned and made his way to one of the horses behind them.

   “You don't smoke, Samuel.”  He flipped open the top, peering inside.

   “No, but my friends do.  My pap taught me to be ready for anything.  There's times when a man wants a fire but not a cigar.” 

   The leather slapped back down, and the young man turned, puffing his cigarette alight.  “Much obliged, Samuel.”  He took his place beside Samuel, adjusting his bowler as he looked across the prairie.  “So, that there's Flinthead Camp?”

   “That it is.” 

   They both stared a long moment, Samuel standing with his hands planted at the waist of his woolen pants, thumbs tucked into his belt.  A tin star on his vest caught the sun as daylight slowly filled the sky.  Samuel shifted, his arms tugging the cream-colored shirt under his vest with his movement; his weather-beaten stetson shuddered in the faint morning breeze.  His right hand moved, resting on the ornately filigreed grip of the revolver that hung low on his hip.  His coal-black hair and mustache was  flecked with gray.  His companion was even more simply dressed: jeans, a dress shirt, and bowler hat, though a tin star and pistol glinted in the sun as silent testimony to his trade.  There was a long quiet as they looked at the distant horizon, broken only by the occasional heavy spit of tobacco.

   “Our man will be there by now, Brandon, bending an elbow and making free with his bounty at the faro tables.  Shouldn't be hard to find.” 
   Brandon squinted a bit and looked to Samuel before returning his gaze to the town.  “Reckon he'll absquatulate once he hears the law's come to town?”

   “No.”  Samuel gave a small shake of his head moments before another gob of brown hit the cracked earth at his feet.  “No, there's no fear in his heart for the law; he'll be there.”  He shifted his jaw a bit, considering.  “How's your iron?”  Brandon grabbed the butt of his pistol and glanced down.

   “Five beans in the wheel, like always.” 

   Samuel nodded, and turned around.  He made his way to the horses, and grabbed the reins. 

   Brandon glanced over his shoulder.  “We headin' out, Samuel?”

   “That we are.” 

   The two of them mounted up, and were off at a steady pace towards the town in the distance.  The desert gradually filled with color as the sun climbed high into the sky; the dim, gray world of early dawn gave way to the brighter oranges and browns of dirt and badlands, speckled with the tans and greens of scrub and tough, wiry shrubs that endured in the dry land.  Gradually the world awoke with color; the occasional snake or lizard made its way out to bask in the growing sunlight and come out of its nocturnal lethargy.  Slowly, the whole world seemed to be waking up and stretching while they rode onwards to their goal.  The steady sound of hooves on hard soil was the drum beat they followed as both men prepared themselves for what was to come.  There was nothing more to say once the course was decided and the ride began; they would go to Flinthead Camp, find their outlaw, and confront him.  They were men of purpose now, and words weren't necessary.

   Samuel glanced over his shoulder to Brandon every so often, but granted himself the luxury of thought while they rode.  His mind turned to the events of the previous morning.  Like always he'd crawled out of bed just before sunrise.  His bones fought the whole way, like always.  It seemed every day his body was waging a war against his mind, and he felt more certain with each morning the day was coming when he'd have to surrender.  Of course, once he was up and about he was master of himself; his body was a gracious loser in these struggles.

   His thoughts went to the land he'd been saving for; a nice homestead somewhere quieter.  Far enough East that it would be safe and life simple, but far enough West for a body to have space and land aplenty.  He could retire, get a herd of cattle and some crops.  He knew cowboys that would give anything to learn a few tricks from old Samuel Picket.  He'd have ranch hands lining up to work for a shooting lesson, or some riding tips.  He'd have a ranch, a quiet life.  He drew in a heavy breath of prairie air as his mind ran free with his plans.

   The simple life of a rancher.  Well, simpler than being the law in these lands, at least.  He looked forward to the steady rhythm of daily chores and cattle drives.  That was what he longed for after so long stomping out the fires of chaos, flitting from town to town a step behind lawlessness: order.  A routine was what he needed, and he'd have it yet.  Farm and ranch life was predictable, if nothing else.  The work never changed, the chores were always there to be done, even the odd tangle brought up by wildlife and weather were expected, making them as much a part of the routine of life as waking in the morning.  He had reached for his razor, and shaved as he debated again how many head he could afford to start, whether it'd be enough to last him until market, and so on; the figures ran through his mind while his hands moved of their own volition to get his body ready for the day.

   A few hours later, he'd gotten the telegram from the capitol.  Jake McFinn, wanted for robbery and three counts of murder.  Worse, one of those murdered was a sheriff.  They wanted the state's marshal office to handle it personally.  Well, one more ride wouldn't be much to ask.  The bonus they were offering him for bringing in McFinn, dead or alive, would be enough.  This could be his last ride.  He'd taken Brandon in spite of his inexperience.  The green deputy was plainly as good as any other.  McFinn was a skilled gunman, and Samuel expected that if the old bandit was too much for him no deputy of his in the state would be a good enough second.

   He shook his head as the last bit of tobacco flew from his lips.  Time enough for thinking.  The town was drawing near, and he had to focus on the task before him.  One last outlaw, one last ride; that was the cowboy's mantra.

   A few hours later brought them to the outskirts of Flinthead Camp, a quiet little stop on the Algonohaw Railway.  The town itself wasn't too large, but catered to travelers well enough.  The railway ran parallel to the town's main street, and its most prominent buildings were the train station and across from it the town hall.  Along the street could be found boarding houses, saloons, a barber shop, a general store, and a tailor.  Further away from the central hub of activity were the less glamorous but necessary parts of the small town, and the few residences it claimed.  The one building that was clearly missing from the cityscape was a jail; it was said that the town's law enforcement mostly just cracked heads and restored order when things were too rowdy, but didn't deal in the rigors of the judicial system.  Whatever the reason, formal law enforcement was a thing rarely seen in this part of the world so the lack of a jail was not the sort of thing one would notice. 

   The two of them rode in silence, the stars on their chests attracting curious glances along with a look of a different sort from some of the more weathered residents; a look somewhere between sympathy and disappointment.  Samuel and Brandon nodded politely to those they passed, stopping before a larger two-story building.  Piano music emanated from the double doors, though there was no sign on the outside to signify its purpose or trade.  The two hitched their horses and dismounted, their boots stomping a cloud of dust.  Samuel adjusted his hat, and the two strode deliberately to the doors.  Samuel stopped just outside and glanced over his shoulder to Brandon.  His partner's expression was stoic, with a hint of apprehension just below the veneer of courage. 

   The old lawman's hand clapped on his shoulder.  “Steady on, Brandon.  We've got the bulge; just keep your hand steady, this'll be over before you know it.”

   The younger man nodded, taking a deep breath and looking from the door to Samuel.  “I reckon he'll be on the prod once we finish the pleasantries.”

   “Reckon you're right.”  The barest smile showed from under the salt and pepper mustache.  His hand clapped twice on Brandon's shoulder.  “Iron nerves now, son.” 

   Samuel turned and pushed the double doors open.  The building, it was now clear, was a prosperous gambling saloon.  A few saloon girls sat at the tables with the men, or lingered by the piano for a dance with a particular gentleman.  No one seemed to pay any mind to the two new arrivals, law or no.  A large crowd was gathered around a rectangular table towards the stairway.  The dealer had his back to the wall and faced towards the entrance, and cheers came up now and again as the cards were dealt.  A stool had been placed opposite him, with a small fellow sitting there in a long leather duster and wide brimmed hat.  Fine gloves were on the hands he used to make bets, and Samuel motioned with a nod of his head towards him.  Brandon put his hands on his belt and followed as Samuel made his way across the room.  The patrons parted for the lawmen as they drew closer, a few even opting to take a moment for some fresh air rather than stay for what was coming.  About six paces from the seated figure, Samuel stopped. 

   “End of the line, Jake.  Finish your drink and come quietly.”

   The saloon fell silent with the uttered command.  The short figure froze.  The gloved hand hesitated over a stack of chips before placing a short stack on the six square.  The hand then motioned impatiently for a deal.  The dealer glanced from the lawmen to the seated man, and with trembling fingers hesitantly drew the first cards.  One was burned into the discard pile, and a five of clubs was played.  The gloved hand waited patiently for the rest of the deal. 

   “You intend to make this hard, Jake?  It won't go well if you insist on that.” 

   A wheezing high-pitched laugh came from under the wide hat, and the duster shifted.  “Determined cuss, ain't you Samuel?” A nasal voice inquired.  The hand reached for a shot glass filled with caramel-brown liquor.  “Can't a body play some Faro without the law intrudin' on a gentleman's pastime?  Have a drink, on me what's more.”  The shot glass went to the hat and returned to the table empty.  The gloved hand raised three fingers and a saloon girl made her way off to the bar.

   “You know this isn't a social call, Jake.  Come on now; you've had your whiskey.  It's time to go.”
 
   The room was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the shuffling of chips as the dealer paid out winnings and collected losses.  The air was tense. A sigh drifted from under the wide brimmed hat.

   “You're a real gentleman of the first water, Samuel.  Good as gold in Caleston, you are.  Give a feller fair warning before trying to take him in.”  The three shotglasses were ferried to his seat, and one was taken by the short fellow, soon drained and returned to the tray.  “But, I ain't a going up the spout.  Now, you best move on before you ruin my fine temper today.”

   “Ain't no reason for this to turn bloody, Jake.  I'm not going to ask you again.”  Samuel's hand moved towards his waist.

   “No, I reckon you won't.” 

   The words were like the final pronouncement before a magician's trick, and with equal speed and flash Jake rolled to his side, duster flapping over the table as he rolled off his stool and spun in the air to face Samuel and Brandon.  His revolver was drawn and aimed as he moved, one hand on the butt pulling the trigger, the other above the hammer cocking it as fast as it fell down upon the cylinder.  Five shots rang out.   Jake hit the ground, the two lawmen unable to even draw before he had fired upon them.  Brandon crumpled to the ground.  Blood pooled from his chest and neck around his motionless body.  Two shots took Samuel in the shoulder and belly.  He stumbled backwards before losing his footing on a chair and crashing to the floor.  He strained to breathe, reaching for his own revolver.  The steady tramp of leather boots on the floorboards drew closer. His fingers tightened around the weapon in his holster.  His arm jerked up to free the weapon.  Just as his wrist was pulling the gun free, a boot slammed atop his hand pinning it to the ground.  He looked up to see the green, taut face of his enemy.

   Beady sickly-yellow eyes peered from behind a stiletto nose and jutting, sharp chin.  Jake leaned down close, revolver in his gloved hand.  The barrel made its way to Samuel's forehead, cold iron pressing against his skin, and the tight, lean lips on his enemy parted as he spoke.  “It's downright inhospitable to reject a drink, Samuel.  Tain't civilized, you know.”

   “The devil take you, Jake.”  Samuel spat.  Air wheezed in his lungs as a second boot landed on his chest.  Blood trickled past his lips.

   “Be a gentleman: let him know I'm coming, Marshal.”  A final shot rang out, and the goblin straightened himself up, thrust his revolver back into its place at his hip, and turned to his seat.  He snatched the second of the three shots from the kneeling saloon girl, and with one fluid hop returned to his stool.

   The room, dark and paneled with smoke-stained oak, was filled with deep and hearty laughter.  A group five men sat encircling a green-topped poker table.  Cigars in ashtrays and short tumblers in various states of fullness were strewn about the table along with neat stacks of gambling chips.  A deck of cards waited in the center, and off to the side was a button inscribed with the lone word “DEALER” in bold.
   The first to speak was a fat, gray-haired fellow with a walrus-like mustache.  A gold chain hung loosely from his waistcoat to his pocket, where it thence terminated from view.  He stretched an arm across the table with a contented sigh as his laughter ended.  “My deal, is it?”  The question was clearly rhetorical; his other hand was already upon the button, sliding it into place. He shuffled while the two men clockwise from him anted their blinds.  The clap of cards mixing was the interlude before he spoke again.  “So, Henry, how's the railway coming?”

   The man across from him, younger with silver flecking his tawny hair and a square jaw, lowered his cigar.  “Slow going out of Stonewall City,”  The words were punctuated with puffs of smoke.  “Greenbacks make for good workers, and we're laying track at a marvelous rate.  It's those damned barbaric dogheads, you know.  They give my crews no end of trouble.”

   “Savages, the lot of them,” agreed the man between Henry and the dealer, a mousy fellow with round spectacles and a pencil-thin mustache.  “This country will be much better when they've accepted their proper place in it.”

   “You mean out of it, Daniel,”  Henry jutted his cigar at the man, wriggling it as he spoke to make his point.  “There's no room in a civilized man's world for some crazed, flea-bitten primitives.  They know it too; they throw themselves into disrupting the march of progress.  The railroad is the vanguard of order and civility.”

   The dealer's fat yet nimble fingers sent the first round of cards flicking across the table to the men, each discreetly picking his two cards up and stealing a glance before they rested face-down once more.

   Henry knocked the cherry from his cigar into his tray, and waved it towards the dealer.  “Fine tobacco you've brought us, Paul.”

   “For the best company,” the fat dealer answered in turn, a smile crossing his rosy face, “the best cigars.”  Glasses were lifted around the table to a chorous of “hear, hear!”.  The deck hit the table before him.

   “Anyway,” Henry began, pausing for another draw from his cigar, “I'm bringing in some boys to help handle the situation.  Good, stout, iron-nerved lads they are.  I figure maybe a small bounty per doghead they bring me dead will be enough to get the point across.”  The others nodded patiently.  He left the cigar in his lips as his right hand shielded his cards while he took a quick glance.  “Mm.  Call.”

   “Have you thought about hiring dwarves?” Daniel inquired, counting his chips before placing a small amount before his main stacks.  “Call.”

   “Fold.”  Paul's cards were set in the table's center.

   “They're too expensive,” Henry grunted through his clamped jaw, his cigar wriggling with the words.

   “Raise 15” came from the man to Paul's left.

   “True enough,” Paul replied, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket.  He dabbed at his neck before taking his tumbler in hand.  “The bearded devils think they own all the world's gold, and we're merely borrowing it until they come to claim it.”

   “Call.”

   “Call,” Henry sighed, moving additional chips to the small stack he'd placed at the start of the round.  His fingers withdrew the cigar again, and he relaxed in his seat, smoke rolling from his lips as he did so.  “Men can shoot as well as any dwarf, and have the advantage of being able to run after their prey rather than glare at it from their stumps.”  A few guffaws were elicited.

   “Call,” Daniel placed a few more chips on his stack.

   Paul burned a card to the side, then dealt the flop. 

   “Check.”  The gentleman to Paul's left ran a thumb over his angular chin; he was a thin fellow with chiseled features and tall, pointy ears rising above lustrous hunter green hair ribboned with black.  His velvet-smooth voice poured like honey on the gathered ears while he lifted his glass.  “You're certain these mercenaries can handle your problem, Henry?”

   Henry rolled his diminishing cigar between his thumb and forefinger, inclining a healthy distance away from the table.  “What's your interest, Ethan?”

   “I'm quite good friends with the sheriff of your jurisdiction.  We meet often to discuss pressing matters; I'm sure the need for additional security in his county might be worthy of his time.”

   ”Check,” the last of the circle, between Ethan and Henry, was an older fellow; what remained of his hair was white, fading like him from view with age.  His suit was in sharp contrast to his wrinkled visage, miniscule hair and tired jowls: new, expensive, and a clear cut above the others in the room.

   Henry stole another look at his cards, then scratched his ear.  “I see; let me guess, after you so generously help me out of a bind, you'll want another crack at a shipping contract?”  A few chips joined his from the last round.  “I'm betting ten.”

   “Why, what a splendid idea, Henry,” Ethan took a sip from his tumbler.  “I do think that would be agreeable; maybe you could find it in your heart to reciprocate my generosity, after I saved you so much on bounties and hired goons.”

   “I'll fold,” Daniel sighed.

   “You gonna play a full hand at some point tonight, Daniel?”  Henry turned to face his left hand.

   “Don't criticize another's play style, Henry; it's bad form,” the older fellow on Henry's right didn't bother to look up from his drink as he spoke.

   Henry glanced in annoyance at Daniel before returning his attention to Ethan.  “They're not goons, they're soldiers.”  Henry lifted his cigar, and thrust it at Ethan as the latter's lips parted just enough to take in air.  “Former” he emphasized, “soldiers.  They're worth every last coin.”

   “I should hope so, Henry,” Ethan counted a few chips.  He looked up as he placed them on his stacks.  “You'll come out with a lot less net if you prefer doing things this way.  Call.”

   “Call.”  The older gentleman placed his chips.

   Henry chuckled as he ground the remnants of his cigar into the ashtray.  “You're so sure you've got me licked, are you?”

   The room was silent while Paul burned another card.  Ethan clicked his chips in a small stack while the fourth card hit the table, the steady clacking of the pieces the only noise in the quiet.  Finally, he moved a small stack with his others.  “Thirty.”

   “Fold,” the older man's cards were gently laid face-down on the table.  He reached into his jacket, extracting a cigar and cutter.

   Henry stared hard across the table at Ethan, but the latter did nothing but sit still as a post, hands clasped together on the table before him.  Henry sent a huff of exasperation out his nose, and shoved another stack before him.  “Raise to forty”.

   The cigar cutter clacked once; next came the sound of flint striking, followed by the toasty smell and nearly inaudible hiss of burning tobacco and paper along with a rapid series of puffs.

   “Call.”  Ethan calmly added to his stack.  Another card burned, another on the table.  Ethan glanced from the table to his cards, then folded his hands again.  “Check.”

   “You're an arrogant one, you know that?  Everyone else in this State may be eager to offer you a monogrammed handkerchief and call you 'Sir', but I'm not going to go for it.  Men, not elves, found, settled, tamed, and built this land.”  Henry leaned forward, his hands balling into fists as they rested upon the wood.  His brows furrowed into mountainous ridges of ill intent.  “I'll do it again, without your brand of 'help'.  You may have a place at this table, but not in this country; this is a human land, not one of your flimsy little forest huts.”

   Ethan did not flinch as Henry spoke; one would almost think he was an exceptional bit of statuary at first.  For a long, still moment his eyes held Henry's iron stare, not even the slightest movement to show his response.  At length, he glanced down to Henry's chips and back up to his eyes.  “If you're quite finished, it's your bet.”

   Before Henry could answer, there was a knock at the door.  The old fellow to Henry's right sighed.  “Ah, excellent: a distraction.  That's precisely what this conversation needed.  Come in!”

   The door opened, and a man entered slowly, gently shutting the door behind him.  He made his way to the old man's seat, leaning in close to speak with hushed voice.  “Governor Harris, there's a situation that warrants your attention.”

   “Try to be more vague, if you could, Flynn.”

   “I'm sorry, Governor, but it's rather important-”

   “Oh, what the devil could be wrong today?”  Harris grunted and rose from his seat, already weary of the story he hadn't even heard yet.  “Excuse me gentlemen, I trust you'll manage without me for a few hands.”  Governor Harris grabbed his cane as his hands left the armrests of his chair, and he managed a dignified hobble towards the door.  Flynn was on his coattails as they exited the room.  They went slowly down the hallway, its cream painted walls decorated with the odd painting in gilded frame.  “So, now that you've managed to interrupt the evening's entertainment, and made me look a frightfully poor host in the eyes of my friends, what is the matter?”

   “I don't know sir.  Chief Marshal Ford called for you, he said it was urgent.”

   “Isn't it always?” the Governor grunted his question.  He paused, leaning against the wall while he jabbed his cane accusingly at Flynn's chest.  “Marshal Ford is constantly bemoaning the State's problems, and I am made of neither money nor manpower.  This is worth intruding upon my quiet evening, Flynn?”

   “It is.” the voice came from down the hallway and within the throat of a tall fellow with a neatly trimmed oak-brown beard and thick eyebrows.  A starched dark grey suit and matching bowler managed to make the golden star on his chest shine all the brighter as he stood watching the two of them.  “Shall we finished this conversation in your office, sir?”

   The Governor lowered his cane to the floor and hobbled the rest of the way to his office, grimacing as he lowered himself into his leather chair.  With a haggard sigh he rested his cane against the desk and leaned back in his throne.  “So, Marshal, whatever is the matter now?”

   Ford removed his hat and took a seat across from the Governor, resting his bowler on the desk.  “We have a fugitive in the State that must be apprehended.”

   “Pressing news to be sure; it's unheard of for a man to try and lose his past in the wild, open frontier.”

   “Most do so without murdering five people, three of which were law enforcement.”  The Governor's expression shifted to a more serious one, Ford's cue to let the rest of his words hit home.  “Two of those officers were marshals.  One of them was Samuel Picket.”

   “Good heavens,” the Governor muttered, his hands drumming nervously on his armrests.  “Samuel Picket?”  A solemn nod was his response.  “When was this?”

   “The robbery that killed the first three was over a week ago; yesterday I got a telegram from Riverbend that Samuel was shot dead in Flinthead Camp.  That's not just some small town, Governor.  That's by the railway.”  Harris' fingers continued their drumming, so Ford sighed and went on.  “It's the boldest murder in the State's history; the most respected lawman in the State, shot in cold blood in broad daylight.  I know your views on frontier life, but this is inviting lawless carnage into our homes.  I can't abide murder of the law in any town, but I certainly can't allow something this brazen to go unanswered.”  Ford leaned to the side in his chair, regarding the Governor calmly.  “Neither can you, sir.”

   “Well, Ford,” Harris took a moment to sift through what had been said before continuing.  “You are the State Marshal, what do you intend to do about it?”

   “I don't have the men to handle this, Governor.”

   “Can't you,” Harris' hand waved abstractly, “round up a posse and bring this miscreant to heel?”

   “My finest man was Samuel Picket; he may have been old, but he was still the fastest draw and the best shot in the Marshal's office.  If I send ten men out to apprehend this fugitive, I promise you ten more dead lawmen and nothing more.”  The Governor eyed him and Ford answered the unspoken question.  “He's not hiding out in some flophouse we can surround or take by surprise.  He's fled to the wilds; even finding him will be difficult, and I promise you he'll meet any party sent for him on his terms, not mine.”

   “Then what am I supposed to do about this, Ford?  You're correct that this can't continue in my state, but you don't intend to sit and do nothing about it either I should hope.”

   “I don't have anyone in the Marshal's office suited for this task, but I have a solution if you're prepared for it.  I'd like permission to hire someone to handle the task for me.”

   “You want to hire some band of drunken, ex-soldier mercenaries?  What makes you think they'd fare any better?”

   “No, sir, I don't want mercenaries.  I have one name in mind, but he'll be expensive.  I'm certain he'll find this criminal, and bring him to justice.”

   The Governor sighed and let his hands fall into his lap.  “It seems we have no other choice; who do you have in mind?”
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Gwolfski on July 06, 2015, 03:27:54 am
nice
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Timeless Bob on July 07, 2015, 04:00:26 am
If/when you publish, send me a PM.  I'm interested in reading the rest of your story and will buy a copy.  (Although hardbacks are pretty pricey - I'd go for a paperback first, if I were you.)
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: vjmdhzgr on July 07, 2015, 07:38:26 am
I'd post about it here or something similar. I imagine quite a few people would like to know of this book, and potentially some coming back to look at this in the distant future that can't ask you to PM them. And also it would be just as easy to simply post here as it would to PM somebody once, and easier than multiple times.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Urist_McArathos on July 07, 2015, 11:20:18 am
I'll likely have to publish it as an ebook first; an unknown author like myself would have a nightmare of a time getting a book published.

Besides, if ebook sales (which would be cheaper and pay me the most directly) are strong enough, someone will offer to publish hardcover and paperback versions later, at which point I'll already be working on more (since it'd take more than a dozen or so sales to get to that point :) )

In any case, I posted a thread in the creative projects subforum about this as well, and I'll post news here and there either way so people on the forum will stay in the know.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Timeless Bob on July 08, 2015, 11:18:49 pm
Awesome.  Thanks.
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Dozebôm Lolumzalìs on October 18, 2015, 11:18:22 pm
So is this done, or is there more to write?
Title: Re: On the Nature of Dwarves
Post by: Immortal-D on December 12, 2015, 10:48:09 pm
Somehow I only just now finished reading this.  Best dissertation ever, lol.  Only problem is that now Dwarves = Badgers is my head-canon :-\