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Tradanbattlan's heart beat quickly as he walked down the long corridor towards the Queen's Palace.  When he got close, the guards recognized him, and opened the door for the expected arrival of the marksdwarf.

He crept in, and with halting steps made his way through the foyer.  Once in the mad Queen's dark hall, terror gripped him.  He managed only a few small steps into the giant throne room before he stopped.  Looking ahead, he could see the Queen's beady eyes upon him. 

"You summoned me, your majesty?"

"Yes."  Urist spoke solemnly.  "Come closer."

Tradanbattlan wiped the sweat from his brow, and then inched closer.  It was then that he noticed that the Queen held the fort's artifact demon sword in her hand.  As he neared, she rose from her throne, and stepped towards the marksdwarf.

"On your knees."  That was the cold command from the Queen.  Tradanbattlan sensed that his time was coming to an end.  His life flashed before his eyes, and he thought of all the things he would never do again.  A sense of acceptance came over him, and slowly, he kneeled down before the Queen one last time.

Tradanbattlan bowed his head as Urist raised the sword, and then....

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...she lightly tapped the sword once upon each shoulder, and then spoke.

"Now rise as Lord Tradan, commander of my newest squad of marksdwarves and defender of the mountain home!"

Tradanbattlan's heart rate calmed somewhat.  He slowly stood up.  An awkward smile came over his face.  "Yes your majesty!  Thank you your majesty!"

"Your beloved Christes will stay with you of course.  Lord Lego will retain command of his squad, some soap makers will fill your place.  Now leave, your peasant stink is making me nauseous."

"Yes, your majesty."  Lord Tradan bowed and then left, thanking the Gods above him.

The Spears of Stroking.