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[scourge728]

We'll be back in 2 years when the next update happens

[Remalle]

See you all in 2019!

[Urist McNuup]

PTW

[Ubiq]

"Hark ye, all and so
 to this great tale
 true and full of woe.
 Of an elephant hale
 hearty and full of life
 who endlessly fell
 into a valley of strife.
Seven years to the day
he happened in his
own very humble way
a trap he did sorely miss.
One would think,
for it all it mattered,
a digbeard mirror
had he shattered.
His luck never improves
his story never moves
For all that time has he spent
not knowing last whence he went.
Little thought he had gave
and forgot the time to save.
How long these things could take
if he should ever forsake
to check in on time
or to make a rhyme,
which can take a hour or two
past the point when it was due.
Reciting is its own reward
(sorry if you're getting bored)
Humblest thanks to you,
grand ladies and gents,
that's stuck clean through
all this rambling nonsense
puns atrocious and plots worse
and all without recompense.
And that's my verse."

So, Reggie old doll, what do you think?"

"I think," so I said, "dear Eustace, that Great Uncle Milton would roll around the graveyard if he could hear your treasonous foray on all that is good and decent in poetry."

Eustace's response was, as ever, appalling and not worth repeating here.

[Immortal-D]

"Hark ye, all and so
 to this great tale
 true and full of woe.
 Of an elephant hale
 hearty and full of life
 who endlessly fell
 into a valley of strife.
Seven years to the day
he happened in his
own very humble way
a trap he did sorely miss.
One would think,
for it all it mattered,
a digbeard mirror
had he shattered.
His luck never improves
his story never moves
For all that time has he spent
not knowing last whence he went.
Little thought he had gave
and forgot the time to save.
How long these things could take
if he should ever forsake
to check in on time
or to make a rhyme,
which can take a hour or two
past the point when it was due.
Reciting is its own reward
(sorry if you're getting bored)
Humblest thanks to you,
grand ladies and gents,
that's stuck clean through
all this rambling nonsense
puns atrocious and plots worse
and all without recompense.
And that's my verse."

So, Reggie old doll, what do you think?"

"I think," so I said, "dear Eustace, that Great Uncle Milton would roll around the graveyard if he could hear your treasonous foray on all that is good and decent in poetry."

Eustace's response was, as ever, appalling and not worth repeating here.

Armok-speed, you magnificent elephant.

[Ubiq]

I ventured close to the cage and was greeted with a nasally cry. "I'LL GRIND YOUR BONES TO MAKE MY BREAD". Ever polite and willing to give a new... let's go with... acquaintance the benefit of the doubt, I replied, "I beg your pardon?" "I'LL. GRIND. YOUR. BONES. TO. MAKE. MY. BREAD." "Indeed. I thought that was what you said. Unleavened or have you some powder in that cage?" "What?" "The bread. Are you intending on hard biscuits or something more sophisticated?"
This left the beast flummoxed since I doubt it had much in the way of a refined palate. Bread was something that I had no real personal experience with before the footrest but all civilized beings are familiar with it through birds who are great fans of that particular foodstuff. They were always praising it to the heavens that they descend from; I once knew a sparrow who had claimed to have sampled wide varieties of it from across the entire world. Counterinituitively, she often insisted that rockclads, of all things, were the best bakers and attributed it to them not having much else to look forward to in life. Though, to be fully honest, I've never yet met a bird who didn't considered him-or-herself to be the world's greatest living authority on baked goods.
Since arriving at this mixing pot of venality, vanity, and violence though, I have sampled a bit of those wares myself. Digbeards make it in the oddest fashion; they start with flour, which I understand is the customary and universal ingredient. The flour is made by taking something and grinding it into a dust; usually some straggly weed or another. The next process is to add something to the flour and then baking it to make biscuits. Something here can be taken to mean almost anything so long as it is roughly edible and some things that probably should not be. Cheeses, fruits, milk, fermented beverages, small vermin, medium vermin, larger vermin, meats, fats, undocumented sundries; the world's is a digbeard baker's oyster when it comes to bread ingredients and it is not impossible that the shell will be tossed in itself for flavor. At the very least, ground up for lightly dusting the top of said biscuits. I witnessed this first hand when my blueclad was apparently temporarily press-ganged into working in that field because of a footrest shortage of qualified laborers.
These biscuits are, on the whole, surprisingly edible and I am not above sneaking one from time to time. They'd never notice anyway since the digbeards often make them in ridiculously large quantities. Do watch those biscuits made with fermented beverages though as too many of those will give you the hobblegobbles as Great Aunt Matilda was wont to say.
The pointed-ear folk bread, medo I think it is called, is one that much is made of, particularly by smaller varieties of birds, but I cannot say much for it myself. It seems to barely make an impression especially when set next to the digbeard variety; I should not be surprised if the latter dent a stone slab in large enough quantities by sheer weight. I suppose the taller folk almost make some attempt or another at it but I've never encountered any of it to say.

Next time: Bread? Seriously? After almost two ye-

[Superdorf]

I... I am so very happy right now. Thank you.

[Steedat]

Is this based on a fort you're still playing? I can't keep my dwarves alive and interesting for a full month, let alone 8 1/2 years!

Anyway, really glad the stories are still being updated, they are quite entertaining. PLus, this means I can PTW without resorting to the Dark Arts.

[Immortal-D]

Next time: Bread? Seriously? After almost two ye-

That is not dead which can eternal pontificate.

[nezclaw]

I have acquired a companion, so to speak. More a follower or hanger-on to be precise. He is another of the benighted batmen that wander these caverns though of a much, much more friendly variety. He is reputedly a bit of an outcast amongst his own kind and has been ever since felling a rampaging creature that was threatening his tribe. From what I can understand, it was a great black and white bird of steam that promptly dissolved when gently tapped with the shaft of his trusty nightcap spear. Since then, he's been an outsider from his clan. No gratitude amongst the deep classes, it seems.

I pondered for a moment what kind of mocking gods would create so many fragile monsters to throw at the world, but then I recalled that the selfsame gods also created digbeards. This is a malicious world created by malicious beings. At any rate, he seems intent on following me around though he is theoretically supposed to be showing me the way out. If nothing else, at least I have something else to talk to. My rapier wit and scintillating conversational skills are wasted on myself alone and, once you get past the "My Old Chum" every other sentence, he is an interesting fellow to talk to.

is. is that an Adam West's Batman reference.