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[crundle]

Hi everyone!

First Post! (been reading this forum for years, though...)

So, anyway, a while ago I started to write a DF-based Story, and recently I decided to pick up that project again.
 I only got the basic outline and a few chapters here and there, but i figured i might as well share it with you people
This is the first time i'm ever sharing something i've written, and english is not my native lingo, so plz. tell me about grammar/spelling mistakes, wrongly used Idioms, bad style and all that jazz.
I hope to continue and eventually finish this, but i'd really love some feedback (motivation has always been my biggest problem with these things... and yes, devastating critique is quite motivating, sometimes )
Anyway, here goes the Prologue:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

* Limestone, 1037 *

Amal was busy cleaning the corridors. That elf had left bloodstains everywhere as they dragged him to the dungeons.
But she didn't grumble about it. Cleaning was a proper task for a child of her age, after all. When Amal would reach her twelfth summer, she would get to choose her crafts. She already knew she'd choose to be a metalsmith, like her grandfather. She was already pretty good with copper, and old Likot had even let her work platinum once.
Most of her friends wanted to join the armies, and prove themselves in the wars. They dreamt of being called to the mountainhome as heroes, like her brother Kivish.
Amal didn't like war. It made too much of a mess. Too much blood to clean up.
She continued to wipe away the sticky bloody trails that trailed along the engraved floor. It was still four years until she could join her grandfather in the forges. Until then, she would do her children's chores: hauling, cleaning, and helping in the fields. Likot always says there is nothing worse than a lazy dwarf.
And that was that.

The bloodtrails led her to a massive steel door. The dungeons. She wasn't supposed to go in there. Noone was, except for the guards.
The great door stood slightly ajar. It was supposed to be locked.
She had never seen the dungeons from the inside.
After a few moments, her curiosity won out, and she pushed it open. The giant steel plate turned smoothly on its hinges, despite its massive weight. Masterful, Amal thought. Probably her grandfathers work. Inside, its was dark and stuffy. The bloodstains on the floor mixed with many others, and the whole place stank of vomit. It must have been years since anyone cleaned up this mess, she thought.
Cave fungus grew on the ceiling, and the engraved walls showed the stains and cracks of years without proper care.
"Well, whoever has to clean this, its not going to be me!", Amal said as she turned around to leave.
That moment she heard the voice.

It came from one of the cages that cluttered the room. She couldn't understand what it said. It sounded like gibberish, but it was the clearest and most melodic voice she had ever heard.
Slowly Amal approached the cage. Inside was a strange creature clothed in fine leather, tall and hairless. The elf!, she thought. That must be the elf diplomat they dragged down here. The creature was bruised and bleeding. But it didn't look like it was in pain. It didn't look scared. In fact it showed no emotion at all.
She backed away a step.

Maybe it couldn't, she thought. After all, it didn't have a beard. How to show emotion without a mustache anyway? When a dwarf was scared, his whiskers would go fuzzy. When he smiled they would flop around like reeds in the wind. A few years ago, when her grandfather went all strange and locked himself in the forge his beard went all fuzzed up and bristly, and he looked like big spiky ball of hair.
The moods, they called that.
In the end he forged a beautiful platinum hammer, and was raised into the circle of legends. But Amal was still haunted by his screams. She hoped she would never get moody herself.

The elf continued his singsong and gestured for her to come closer. She was reluctant, but eventually she took a small, careful step forward.
Suddenly a wave of heat washed over her. The elfs body was beginning to emit a soft glow, like the last embers of a dying fire.
She tried to turn and run, but her legs wouldn't follow.
Instead, she collapsed on the ground.
All around her, the wooden cages in the room began to twist with a groaning sound, as if the wood was stretching its muscles. The old planks, long devoid of any life, began to sprout branches and leaves. Above her the cave fungus began to bloom, wilted, and bloomed again, in a neverending cycle of death. She had heard that elf magic was beautiful, but now that she saw it all she felt was fear.
The elf began to drone in a deep tone. This time, she understood what it said.
"The Seals will be sundered. The Blade shall be drawn. Death will come, young one. The fires of the deep have risen. Your greed has called them once again."
Screaming, Amal fled from the room.

I hope you like it so far, first chapters will follow soon...

I'm not sure about the names, though... Dorfs will use any Noun as a First Name, right?

Please do tell me what you think about it, i'm really not very sure about this stuff...

EDIT: looks like i stole someones forum name, there's already a !!crundle!! out there... well, activation took long enough, so whatever. sry dude.

[JumpingJack]

(Note: I'm not very good at critique, so take everything I say with a grain of salt.)

First off, for a prologue, this is quite good. Your grammar's passable overall, and the only typo that I've noticed is "noone" instead of "no one", which is a fairly common mistake. The format's a little jarring, to be honest, but not terrible. I'd recommend not starting a new line after every two sentences or so. Take a reformatted version of the first paragraph, for example:

Amal was busy cleaning the corridors. That elf had left bloodstains everywhere as they dragged him to the dungeons. But she didn't grumble about it. Cleaning was a proper task for a child of her age, after all. When Amal would reach her twelfth summer, she would get to choose her crafts. She already knew she'd choose to be a metalsmith, like her grandfather. She was already pretty good with copper, and old Likot had even let her work platinum once. Most of her friends wanted to join the armies, and prove themselves in the wars. They dreamt of being called to the mountainhome as heroes, like her brother Kivish. Amal didn't like war. It made too much of a mess. Too much blood to clean up. She continued to wipe away the sticky bloody trails that trailed along the engraved floor. It was still four years until she could join her grandfather in the forges. Until then, she would do her children's chores: hauling, cleaning, and helping in the fields. Likot always says there is nothing worse than a lazy dwarf. And that was that.

You have a good sense of when to separate paragraphs, so just arrange the sentences in less of a script-like way. That way, the reader won't need to keep jumping back to the left margin every few seconds and feel like a human typewriter, if I may be blunt. You did well establishing the setting in the first paragraph, though if I had any gripe with it I'd say that there was little to visualize. The first-half of the second paragraph seemed abrupt, or in other words the sentences were too short to allow the reader time to fully picture the scene. However, from the moment you began describing the dungeons till the end of the final paragraph, I'd say you painted a very good mental picture.

All in all, good work. I certainly wouldn't mind reading the following chapters. And yes, as far as I'm aware, Dorfs will use any noun as a name.

[Sanctume]

It was a good read and the story flows well. 

The introduction sentences are indeed short bursts of info, and I think you can re-write them together into more descriptive prose.

Amal was busy cleaning the corridors.
That elf had left bloodstains everywhere as they dragged him to the dungeons.
But she didn't grumble about it.
Cleaning was a proper task for a child of her age, after all.

Something like, "Amal busy herself cleaning the streaks of elf blood that stains the smoothed floors leading down to the dungeons.  She does not grumble at this task because it is proper for any dwarf child of age eight."

[crundle]

Thank you for your comments, this is quite encouraging

The format's a little jarring, to be honest, but not terrible. I'd recommend not starting a new line after every two sentences or so.

Yeah, it is. I actually wrote it without those newlines, and put them in because i posted this on a pc with a big screen and a small font. Most of the paragraphs ended up in a single line, which was even worse to read
But i'll keep it in shape from now on, no more extra newlines

The introduction sentences are indeed short bursts of info, and I think you can re-write them together into more descriptive prose.

I actually did that on purpose as well, because i wanted to convey that childs viewpoint and figured a 8-year-old wouldn't think in long convoluted sentences. But I guess I might have gone too far there, I'll see if i can rework that to make it more reader-friendly

anyway, heres the opening part ... or better, the first part of the first part
I just keep posting as i write, so the next piece of that chapter should be ready tonight (hopefully)

Edit: actually i just added another small piece... more to come later
Edit2: larger fonts seem to be a good idea -  also reformatted the prologue in the op

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

* Malachite, 1042 *

Kivish could not stop grinning as another goblin fell at his feet.
"Ha! This is true work for a dwarf! Chop! Chop!", he yelled as he clashed into the next group. A Spearpoint glanced of his armored shoulder. He swung around and his axe severed the golins head in a single clean cut before continuing its arc to bury itself in the chest of another spearman. Kivish smashed a face with the rim of his shield, tore his weapon free, rolled under another thrust and severed the legs of his last enemy above the knees.
All the while he laughed.

On his left, Tharnas wove through a group of lashers in an intricate dance. Tharnas's sword flashed up and  down, from side to side, cutting of arms, legs and heads with precision.
"How could we ever not love this?", Kivish called over.
"Remember how we feared our first battle? How we almost ran when they came? Ha!", Tharnas shouted as he dispatched the last golbin in his reach, "These filthy bastards dont even count as training!".
"Truly spoken old friend. Now, do we hold or charge?", Kivish said with a smirk.
A few paces to the right, Vanel tore through the enemy ranks like an avalance, felling goblins with every hammerstrike. They called him the Bloodsmith for a reason.
"We charge. Before there is nothing left to charge at. We shall earn our names today.", Tharnas grinned.

***

About two hours later Kivish was wiping his axeblade on the frayed cloak of a fallen goblin. It had taken him some time to find a piece that was not yet completely soaked with blood. Cleaning your weapons was important - it would be disgraceful to let a good tool go to rust, much more so a named weapon like his own. He had called it Kathilvukcas, The Wet Crescent, a name he had chosen when he returned from the campaign against the southern Kobold tribes six years ago, because the wavy lines in the etched steel of the curved blade always reminded him of a river.
Around him the scribes were still counting the corpses of the slain, and interrogated the prisoners - few as there were - for details of the battle. Mostly they asked for the names of the fallen, and recording them when the corresponding body could be identified - so they could pass into legend. This was the last honor that was granted to every warrior, both friend and foe. The Codes of War were very strict in these matters.
Once a body was accounted for it was frisked for valuables, and then thrown into the chasm below the drawbridges at the gate. Vultures were already circling that pit in swarms that darkened the sky, waiting for their chance to claim their part of the rotting spoils.

A few strides away Tharnas had finished relating his kills to a scribe, who was recording them for the official counts.
He started to walk towards Kivish, carefully stepping over the bodies and severed limbs that still covered the battlefield like a carpet. His slender build and that strange gait made him look like a child playing hopscotch. A very large child wearing full steel armor.
"So, how many?", Kivish called to him.
"Seventeen! That makes a total of One Hundred and Six! How about you?"
"Twelve. Though I think the scribe missed one."
Tharnas paused for a second. "Still, thats a total of One Hundred and Three, right? That means we both made it!", he said with a smile.
Kivish grinned broadly. "Yeah, welcome to legend, brother!"
"Still, I win again.", the swordsdwarf said as they turned toward the great gates, "You owe me a barrel of whip wine. And not the cheap stuff, at least three years old."
"Right, right.", Kivish gumbled.

***

The steel bar was still emitting a bright orange glow as Amal thrust it back into the flames. She needed more heat, otherwise the metal would not be hard enough for the spears she was making. The chunks of gabbro in the forge would provide that, as they were close to melting themselves thanks to the magma flowing only a few span below. Magma was a great asset in a dwarven forge, eliminating the need for coal and the tedious pumping of bellows. She had learned how to work all metals in a traditional forge of course, but day after day she thanked the gods for not having to. In a way, she considered, magma itself might be something holy. After all, it runs through the depths of the earth like blood runs through a body. She wondered where the worlds heart might be.
She pulled the steel bar from the forge with her tongs, its glow now close to white, and kicked the pedal to drop the forge cover. Then she took a deep breath - she had been holding it so she wouldn't inhale the toxic burning gases rising from the depths - and turned towards the anvil. She continued beating the metal into shape with slow, rhythmical strikes, the hammer in her right hand feeling like a natural extension of her body. She rarely put it down these days - except when she was eating or sleeping.
Around her, the great Metalworks were crowded with dwarfs, each one busy with his own tasks - some were carrying ores to the long line of smelters that ran along the left of the room, others bringing the freshly cast metal bars over to the forges on the right, and again others loading the finished products into minecarts and sending them off towards the grand stockpiles in the upper fortress. Today almost all the smelters and forges were manned and worked, only a handfull on the far end of the room stayed cold. This bustle of metals and people looked like complete chaos, and yet it was perfectly organized and efficient. She always thought of it as a beautiful dance.

That was how she noted the oddity. There was a dwarf here that did not belong, a dwarf without a purpose. He was milling around in the center of the walkway and kept getting shoved aside by the haulers as he got in their way. And as he turned around and showed his face she realized she knew him. His mother was working in one of the smelters, so she had seen him around here when she was a kid - she could not remember his name, though. Arel? Adil? Either way, apparently he'd seen her too, and started to walk straight towards her. As he came closer she noticed he was wearing a scribes garb - flowing blue cloth robes embroidered with images of scrolls and codices.
"Ah, there you are!", he called, "Its quite hard to find anyone in this madhouse!". The last got him some angry stares from the haulers close by. "I've been looking for you for a good hour now!"
Me?, she thought, What in the name of the gods does he want from me?. But she still called out to him: "The forges are not that large, Adil! Perhaps you should stay in the gatehouse until your eyes adapt to the darkness. I heard it has windows."
"Very funny, Amal! I see the fumes have not yet dimmed your wits!", he answered. Nothing about me using the wrong name. Guess I got that right, Amal mused as the dwarf that was probably Adil entered her forge. "Well then, what is it? Out with it! Unlike you scribes, I have work to do."
"The battle is over. Our troops have broken the siege and...", he started.
"We all heard the bells, Adil. Get to the point." Amal put the steel aside for now. It was cold now anyway, and she could not open the forge with this fool around. Or the fumes might dim his wits even more, she thought glumly.
"Well, its your brother...", Adil said.  Amals face went white.
"What happened to him? Is he alright?", she yelled at him.
Adil raised his hands as if to defend himself. "He is fine, don't worry!", he answered.
"Then what?", Amal asked, angry that the scribe had shocked her like that, but relieved that Kivish had not been harmed.
"He has been accepted into the circle of legends. The naming ceremony is held tomorrow evening.", he said flatly. "Consider this your official invitation."

[Sanctume]

Good flow and details.   The last part had some inkling on how the brother might not have survived, but the previous part he did ok and reached the 100 kill milestone. 

Perhaps it would have been more suspenseful if  Kivish and Tharnas were discussing the kill count 100, and ending the scene charging to help Bloodsmith so I will not be quite sure if he survived the battle until the last part where Amal got the invitation.

[crundle]

Good flow and details.   The last part had some inkling on how the brother might not have survived, but the previous part he did ok and reached the 100 kill milestone. 

Perhaps it would have been more suspenseful if  Kivish and Tharnas were discussing the kill count 100, and ending the scene charging to help Bloodsmith so I will not be quite sure if he survived the battle until the last part where Amal got the invitation.

You're totally right about that, didn't notice when I wrote it
I also like your suggestion a lot, but I feel it might be too much to introduce a character on one page and threaten to kill him on the next one. So I'll change the ending of the last paragraph to make her reaction less extreme and soften that thing up a bit.
I will probably work that idea into some later part of the story though - its going to be pretty long anyway, and I got a few good place for that later on (So far this was the start of act I, and theres three more to go - act II is mostly done already, though )

Edits and next chapter should be done by sometime tonight (CET, that is)