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[Jim Groovester]

He is the alpha hauler.

He gets first pick of every new corpse's belongings, so that he can choose the tastiest most valuable parts.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 30^th of Hematite, 1075

"That's it, back up you cur!  Back ye' right up now and give me ample berth!"

Wallgirders held his hands out to either side of him, spreading them wide like wings.  From his bare fists, blood dribbled off his fingertips, ran in small rivulets down to his wrist, staining the sleeves of his robe a rusty red.  He laughed and turned in a slow circle, meeting the eyes of more than a dozen Dwarves pressed against the hallway walls.  Eventually, still turning, he closed his eyes and laughed, arms raising up high over his head before he dropped his full weight onto the prostrate metalsmith's arm.

Fliersalves screamed as his radius was snapped, in the center, a shard of bone poking up just above his wrist.  He writhed on the floor, unable to nurse the wound as his right arm flopped uselessly at his side.  Still chuckling to himself, Wallgirders stood up, smearing the blood on his palms over the front of his robe.  Shoving aside a Fisher, he stalked off down the stairs, for the newest name on his list.

From the crowd, Maggarg pushed his way into the open.  Behind him, Sargent Towersacks followed, and Jools.  Shaking his head, Maggarg leaned over, and almost delicately for the rough-edged Dwarf, lifted Fliersalves onto his shoulder. 

"Open the way," Maggarg growled.  "We're getting him to a bed."
"I'll find Dojango, we'll get his arms set."  Jools hurried off towards the kitchens.

Silently, the Dwarves in the hall shifted, letting the soldiers file their way down the stairs.  Slowly they began to mill about, turning to their tasks, or to the shops, or anywhere to take their mind off the public beating.  From a shadowed corner, a single set of eyes watched the scene unfold.  Fingertips touched the plaster deaths-mask he wore, a simple gesture of prayer, before the duster was pulled tighter around him.

"Hhnnngh.  Goodness grows from bloody soil... glimmer of hope.  Carry on, Felon.  Keep the watch."

[Argonnek]

Excellent writing as always HF.

[Mephansteras]

What percentage of the population has/will be punished at this point?

[Heavy Flak]

Excellent writing as always HF.

Thanks a ton <3 (Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite!)

What percentage of the population has/will be punished at this point?

We've had... 25-or-so Dwarves punished in the first burst, three more since I was unable to fulfill some mandates.  That's not counting the few that were killed recently by the camels, the ones not yet dead by their own hands, or dead at the hands of the fortress.  Oh yeah, a bunch of merchants, their guards, and the human diplomat.  I list them only because I like to think that anyone who steps foot on this land and isn't pure of soul is going to get punished.

Well, that's not true.  Anyone who isn't pure of soul, or drunken psychopath, or a man who surrounds himself with war-bears.  Or a donkey loving fool.  Or, or, or...

[Heavy Flak]

Updates are still coming, folks!  Bare with, things are crazy here - between the end of our fiscal year coming up, after-work engagements, a dropped FPS from water, and a release of Portal 2 (stop looking at me like that, it can be filed under work!), free time is at a minimum.  I just haven't forgotten!

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 4^th of Galena, 1075

WHAM

WHAAM

WHAAAM!!

Bent hinges squealing in protest, the heavy iron door swung in at a drunken angle.  Gouging a foot-long arc into the stone floor, the hinges lost their battle and released.  The iron door half-rebounded, spinning as it dipped, before clattering to lay half in the hallway, half in the prison cell.

Sgt. Pepper stood in the center of the hallway, the whites of his eyes nearly non-existent behind his mask.  He stood motionless for a long while, either unconcerned or unaware of the slowly growing crowd of Dwarves gathering at the mouth of the passage.   He seemed to be carved from the stone itself, his great form wrapped in a dust-coated greatcoat.  At once, the mechanisms clicked - the engine started - and he took two quick steps inside of the cell. 

When he returned, he held a tiny form cradled in his arms.  The body was withered, skin loosely hanging at the neck, bones visible at the elbows, the collar, the hips.   There was a murmur among the crowd, and silently, quickly, many Dwarves vanished around the corner and out of sight. 

His boots sounded on the floor, the hollow thocking of recently-cobbled equipment.   Eita craned her neck to look up at him as he drew near.  Briefly, she reached out, and placed a small hand on his elbow. 

"We may not agree on many things, axe-swinger, but I hate to see this to one of our brood.  My condolences, soldier.  Nothing could be done."
"I respectfully disagree," the massive Dwarf rumbled.  "Archin died in that cell without the will to live.  She was put there by the nobility.  She was left there, by the guard.  She died there, because of the Dwarven Folly.  If you see Wallgirders, or the Duke and his whore... if you see that fool Telamon- Johnny- whatever name he goes by now.  I will fell them all."

"I don't think that is the wisest of actions," Eita said - but her words fell on deaf ears.  Sgt. Pepper slid past her, and vanished around the corner as well, carrying the wasted bundle towards the tombs.   

[ricemastah]

So.... another of the original seven has fallen. Today marks a dark day in the history of Migrursut

[Knick]

So.... another of the original seven has fallen. Today marks a dark day in the history of Migrursut

Every day is a dark day in the history of Migrursut.

[quip]

So.... another of the original seven has fallen. Today marks a dark day in the history of Migrursut

Every day is a dark day in the history of Migrursut.

The weather forcast for every week in Mirgurst:

Monday: Sun won't come out for fear of the fort

Tuesday: Sun will come out but the cries of the damned will block it out

Wensday: The sun will come out but you'll be working at the time to avoid a phsyco hammerer. The rest of the week you'll be on break.

Thursday: The fort will be attacked, probably. Oh and the sun may or may not come out. Depending on Stravitches mood.

Friday:The sun will come out but it won't emit any light. There will also be a high chance of Grovs.

Saturday: There will be large amounts of drama and depending on what happens the sun may or may not survive. You on the other hand will definately die.

Sunday: Elven traders arrive. You may or may not come back as a undead horror.

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 4^th of Limestone, 1075

"How long do you think we have?"

Akroma lifted his head, using the back of a wrist to wipe away the sweat streaming down his brow.  It took him a minute to respond, stretching out his back, and attempting to dust off the plain cord pants. 

"'Till winter, if I had to guess.  No longer than next summer, that's for sure."

Digging a small hole with a broken-short sword, Dojango reached into his rucksack and pulled out a few fisher berry seeds.  He carefully covered them up with loose soil, and patted it down with the flat end of the trowel.  He eventually gave a slow nod.

"I was thinking that as well.  You hear Crispin birthed another?"
"No!  Yet another?"
"Aye, number nine, if you count the swadd'ler that burnt.  Yet another girl."

There was a moment of silence between them as they toiled in the muck - the silence broken by both of them beginning to snicker.  In seconds they were doubled over, howling, pounding their knees, tears streaming down their dirty cheeks.

"Good lord, their only Son - a planter!"
"They'd be better off having had a Son that aspired to soap making, at least he'd end the day clean!"

Akroma covered his face with his hands, gasping in deep breaths to keep from blacking out.  In time, their laughter stopped, even if on occasion Dojango let out a loud hiccup.  They sat in silence, resting against the walls. 

Wiping at his nose, Dojango said matter-of-factly, "Lorban died."
"Mm.  Starvation?"
"Yes.  In the end, he wouldn't even take the slices of roast I brought him.  He let it rot in his cell."

Akroma stared at the dirt between his legs.  He slowly worried on his lower lip, chewing nervously upon it in thought.  "When do we go?"
"We took the gold, didn't we?  We stay 'till the jobs done or Bertand's sand has finally run it's course."
"There isn't much left, is there?"
"There sure isn't.  The last of his legacy, dusting over green glass, working it's way through the scale-strippers to feed tyrants and petty thieves."



Akroma blinked.  "Don't you think that's a little dramatic?"
Dojango gave a small shrug.  "We're about to be entombed alive under thousands of thousands of tonnes of water, the only thing keeping it from us some green glass those not fit to work stone made in the forges.  I just think it's a waste for something as marvelous as this dust."

"Eh.  Just drop it, and get to work.  The sooner it's gone, agree or not, we can begin packing our bags."
 

[Flar Moonchill]

Updates are still coming, folks!  Bare with, things are crazy here - between the end of our fiscal year coming up, after-work engagements, a dropped FPS from water, and a release of Portal 2 (stop looking at me like that, it can be filed under work!), free time is at a minimum.  I just haven't forgotten!

I know I'm massively late but just caught up with like 6 weeks of update (I know I'm sorry)! OT I just had a week off and blitz Portal 2. I LOVED it. And the ended rocked. :-)

What ever happened to the book keepers side adventure? Any ideas I had a slightly cracked swordsman rocking there.... and FYI if you catching up in a rush that April's Fool totally suckers you in :-P

Edited: Mis-use of the word 'their' FTL.

[Heavy Flak]

Oh, what's this?



That's just my FPS when I'm filling a pit with waters!  It hovers, somtimes it's better (like now, at 10).  Sometimes it's not (like above, at 1).  But just letting you know.  Things are a happenin'!

What ever happened to the book keepers side adventure? Any ideas I had a slightly cracked swordsman rocking there

Bookkeep's adventure is a'commin.  Actually, I have the beginning of that all fleshed out, I just have to wait for the right chain of events and the right progression to get me there.  But it's coming!  And it'll blow your minds because I've refused to learn ANYTHING about DF past 40d.  I expect... really great things from my ignorance.

[CrackFile]

It lives? It liiiiiiives! I haven't been on the DF forums for a long time. I'm glad to see this thread is now alive again. Now I just have to go catch up on the rest over the next few days.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 27^th of Limestone, 1075

"You can't be serious.  A thousand monies, for the contents of a single cage, sight unseen?  You must be out of your mind."

Beakpainted crossed his arms over his reedy chest, his mangy beard waggling as he shook his head.  The damnable desert dwellers were always looking to give the shaft to an honest trader.   Sunken eyes darkened even more as his brow furrowed, his lower lip tucking against his teeth as he growled low to the jewel-and-silk bedecked dwarf.

"I'm no longer interested in your games, Rinsesilver.  I'm no longer interested in your flights of fancy.  We've sold our bolts to Aryn, our booze to Rice, and the few gems we could take out of the contested lands to the Duke's lady herself.  We pack our bags and leave this evening if you intend to try and fleece us yet again."

"Fine, my strapping young buck," she flashed a wide glinting smile, some of her teeth now capped over in her namesake.   "Gander over at yon cage, will ye?"

One of the fishers, his ruddy face sweatier than normal in this heat, gave a hard yank to the large sheet covering the cage.  Beakpainted, and a few of his guards, let out collective gasps.  Inside the cage, clattering against the bars, roamed a skeletal camel, bits of leathery sinew clinging here and there to mostly bleached bones.  Seeing the dwarves - seeing living flesh - it became agitated for a moment, rattling and bucking in it's confinement.  It soon settled, pacing in the cage, rattling the bars with it's yellowed skull. 

"We have seven to sell," Rinsesilver said quietly. 
"By Lenod's fiery beard... you can't capture the beasts.  They kill, or they fall to dust, but they don't get caught.  They... they just don't get caught."

"My young lads learned how to snare the skittering beasties.  You want to earn some riches in a war-torn land?  let me give ye a small bit o' advice for free: You want to earn coin, you offer what others cannot.  Sell them as sights, or sell them as novelties, or sell them to the whatever grand scholar may be left in our mountainous tombs.  But believe you me, not a one of these monstrosities leaves these wastes.  You'll be the first."

"The first... oh, the first..." Beakpainted took a step backwards, but his eyes glittered with greed.  Fingers hooked behind his loose belt, the material sagging from his hipbones.  "Bring the others up, let me take a look.  And be prepared to wrap them tight, I don't want any of the others to see such a fine cargo go traipsing by..."