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[ed boy]

This is a DF story that will be written by you, the forumgoer! I have already written the preface and first chapter. What you must do is provide subject for chapter two. Once I have written chapter two, you suggest things for chapter three, and so on.

Spoiler: preface: Strike the earth! (click to show/hide)

The sun rose through the sky, casting its light upon the Crazed Spine. A jagged line of mountains, they stretched from the Spattered Dunes to the south to the Veiled Forest to the north. The mountains rose abruptly out of the ground, their barren surfaces striking a harsh contrast to the lush grasslands below.

Well, mostly barren. A few figures moved here and there, mere specks against the vastness of the mountain.

These specks were all there was of Geshud Zas, the Stronghold of Crystals. A wagon, loaded with tools and supplies. Two mules, to pull the wagon. Seven dwarves. It was not much for now, but it would become much, much more.

Of the seven dwarves, one was clearly the leader. He was broad and muscular, even for a dwarf. He stood on top of the wagon, dressed in a plated chest and leggings. In his left hand, he held an axe, resting it on his shoulder. He wore no helmet, which exposed his copper skin and his long, brown beard. His mouth was hidden underneath his long moustache. His hair fell straight down his back, reaching the level of his waist. There was a slight wind, which rustled his hair slightly. He did not like being out in the sun for long, and this showed on his face.

The other six stood in a semicircle in front of him. Two female and four male, they were dressed in simple clothes of rope reed and pig tail cloth. They looked at the dwarf on the wagon, waiting for him to speak. They too did not like such exposure to the sun, and they were keen to get to work quickly.

The wind stilled suddenly, and the dwarf on the wagon started to speak. The others listened intently, drinking in his every word.

"We have arrived. After a journey from our Mountainhome into the forbidding wilderness beyond, our harsh trek has finally ended. Our party is to make an outpost for the glory of all of Tetóthinod. There are almost no supplies left, but with stout labour comes sustenance. Whether by bolt, plow or hook, we will provide for ourselves. We are expecting a supply caravan just before winter entombs us, but it is spring now. Enough time to delve secure lodgings here, ere the leopards get hungry."

The dwarf on the wagon lifted his axe into the air, the sunlight catching it and gleaming brightly.

"A new chapter of dwarven history begins here at this place, Geshud Zas 'The Fortress of Crystals'. Strike the earth!"

The dwarves echoed this last part, their cries bouncing off the barren face of the mountain. They repeated it, the chant resounding and soon joined by the sound of picks striking rock, backed by dwarven muscles.

The dwarf on the wagon looked on. After the speech, he had remained silent, watching the others work. He rested his axe on his shoulder again, producing the clink of steel on steel. A rare smile found its way onto his lips as he watched the others work.

Spoiler: chapter one (click to show/hide)

Urist Idamot was born into the Tetóthinod, or "The Lone Gates". He was son of a weaver and a cheese maker, and his parents had provided adequately for him and his siblings. They had had four children. The eldest, was a daughter named Rist. The second was Urist. The third was another son, named Limul. The last was a second daughter, named Mörul.

They had grown up in Tetóthinod, unaware of the troubles that were brewing outside. They had played many games of catch-the-goblin and soldiers, but they did not realise the harsh reality behind such games until later on.

When Urist was nine, and his sister Rith was eleven, a few months away from reaching adulthood. They had been playing a game of hiding and searching. Urist was hiding underneath a bed in the barracks, as the soldiers there looked on at their games and smiled, reminded of their own youths. All of a sudden, a resounding cry was heard.

“Snatcher! Protect the children!”

The soldiers immediately sprang into action, racing out the room and up the stairs. Urist tried to follow them, but crawling out from the bed took him some time. He eventually emerged, and ran after the crashes and yells he heard. His run slowed to a trot, then a walk, and then stopped entirely. Standing at the entrance to the Mountainhome, he saw spatters of blood on the floor. The ground sloped downwards out of the entrance, and from his high vantage point, he could see a group of soldiers chasing a goblin holding a large sack. The goblin was faster though, and eventually he got away. Urist never saw his sister again.

When it came to Urist’s adulthood ceremony, he wasted no time. Like many before him, he immediately enlisted himself in the fortress militia. As a child, he had seen the soldiers sparring, striking faster and harder than he ever could. He had heard tales of dwarves who had killed armies, whose hammer blows had shook the earth and who had slain the foul demons beneath. He wanted to be one of these heroes, and had joined the militia to do so.

Military life was much different from what he had expected. When he saw the dwarves sparring with each other, and he had heard the clashes of steel on steel, he thought it would be thrilling and fun to take part. His squad leader soon took care of that. His name was Kikrost Ethabolon, and he had been part of the military for many decades. His skill with a mace was unrivalled within the fort, and he has single-handedly fought off an entire goblin ambush before.

Urist emerged from his first sparring session exhausted and battered. Though the weapons they used to train with were blunted and did limited damage, they were still very nasty to be hit by. The fortress training discipline required that the squad become proficient will all weapons, and he found the constant switching of weapons to be disruptive to his learning.

Many years passed. Urist’s brother, Limul had followed Urist’s example and joined the military. Kikrost had been promoted to commander of the fortress’s forces. Urist had progressed in his training, and had become one of the fort’s finest warriors, being awarded command of his own squad at the age of forty-eight. Limul, who was one of the few that could match Urist’s skill, was soon commanding a squad of his own. Mörul, their sister, has taken up an administrative role, as was soon appointed as adviser to Tosid Udkogan, the king of Tetóthinod.

One day, it all changed. Urist and his squad were on duty, guarding the main entrance from invaders and thieves. They had spent countless hours doing duties like this, and they had grown overconfident in their skill. When the invader came, it was not spotted as soon as it should have been, and they had little time to react.

It was a great hill titan. Standing twice as tall as any dwarf, and many times stronger, it attacked the fort, attracted by stories of their wealth and prosperity. Urist had yelled a battle cry, and charged at the beast, followed by his squad. He had killed many goblins, and even a few elves and men, and saw this latest beast as another addition to his list of kills.

His charge was caught head on by one of the beast’s fists. Urist was sent flying back, crashing into the ground and lying there. His shield arm was mangled, and one of his legs was broken. He could do nothing but watch the resulting carnage.

Urist had been able to survive because of decades of training rending him with an incredible toughness. Those in his squad were not so lucky. They were young and inexperienced, and they were killed. Ripped limb from limb, their weapons not breaking the skin of the beast. Their screams brought the attention of the rest of the military, and the titan was driven off underneath a storm of crossbow bolts.

Urist was brought inside and treated by the doctors. His injuries were vast, and a lesser dwarf would have died from them. As the months passed, Urist’s condition improved. He was able to move on crutches, then hobble about unsupported, then finally move as he did before. But he did not.

He was filled with grief and sorrow. He isolated himself from dwarven society. He no longer sparred with others, but trained alone. He gave up all positions of responsibility in the military. He spent hours every day polishing his armour and weapons. He even took to the drink, forsaking his alcohol in favour of water.

This did not go unnoticed. The King, Tosid, saw what was happening and realized that something needed to be done. Urist was a dwarf in a unique position, and as it so happened, the king had need of a unique dwarf.

Urist was summoned into the throne room in front of Tosid. He has seen Tosid in the Mountainhome before, but as with all nobles, Tosid did not tend to mingle with common dwarves such as himself. Tosid offered him an interesting position, though. A new chance, an opportunity to do something for the glory of their civilisation. A new expedition was to be launched, to found a fortress. Six willing and skilled dwarves had already volunteered for this task, but they were not knowledgeable in the ways of combat and battle. Urist was a veteran of many battles, and knew much about combat. He would be the leader of this expedition, he would guide them, train them and protect them.

Urist no longer wished to remain at Tetóthinod. Everything he saw reminded him of his failure, compounded his grief. He accepted.

Also, criticism would be appreciated.

[Karnewarrior]

!!TANTRUM SPIRAL!! !!

[kilakan]

Scrounge the bars for drunks foolish enough to sing in on him with his mission, then head out, hapless peasents in tow.

[Heron TSG]

>Pick up rocks as ammunition.

[Meanmelter]

>Look for a pickaxe, and pick it up, if it does not seem to have a owner.

[ed boy]

I shoudl have clarified myself a bit more. what I was asking for was the subject of the next chapter (e.g. goblins plan an invasion, entrace is built), as opposed to instructions for urist.

Also, I was hoping to have this be a bit less silly than the other forum games.

[Ottofar]

Entrancen a dwarf. I mean a strange mood. Also, entrance half-finished, when goblins show up?

[ed boy]

Let's save the strange moods until we have enough dwarves and an actual fort, shall we?

Spoiler: Chapter 2 (click to show/hide)

The sun shone down on the Swift Forest. The leaves of the trees were thickly spaced and absorbed much of the light. Together, they cast a collective shadow upon the floor of the forest below, leaving it murky and dark. It was not quiet, though. The chirps of birds came from seemingly every corner of the forest.

A solitary deer walked though the forest. It was thirsty and its destination was a pool of water. It brought its head down to the pool and started to drink, quenching its thirst.

Among the cacophony of bird calls, there was a noise. It was not by any means a loud noise, but it was out of place and that was what caught the attention of the deer. Its head shot up, and ears twitched. It paused a moment, and then its muscles tensed, preparing to flee.

From one of the bushes, a crossbow bolt came. The bolt flew faster than the eye could see, and hit the deer in its side. The bolt forced its way through skin and muscle, lodging in the ribcage. The dear reared back, blood pouring from the wound. It let out a great cry, emptying its lungs. Another bolt came, and the lungs remained empty.

As one, six goblins rose from the vegetation around the pool. “Unez smoz”, one of them said, and two of the goblins leapt on the deer, knives out. Within minutes, they had stripped the body of all flesh. The goblins ate ravenously. They had not eaten for a day and a half, and their strength was starting to wane. They would need their strength for what they were going to do.

These goblins hailed from the dark fortress Ôngtumzolak “Feedsins”. The Mountainhome Tetóthinod had been the object of many goblin attacks, with extensive casualties on both sides. This conflict had lasted years, and there was bitter hatred between the two factions. The goblins were believers in stealth and subtlety, and when a caravan had left Tetóthinod it soon had a squad of goblins following it.

The goblins that followed were masters of their craft. They could blend into the slightest shadow, and snatch a child right out of a mother’s arms. They had been using these skills when following the caravan, never being seen but always watching the dwarves travel.

They could not keep up the chase forever, though. Their supplies had been limited, whereas the dwarven wagon was laden with food. Although they put it off for long enough, the moment eventually came when they had to abandon the chase and hunt for food.

They had done this now. Each goblin having eaten their fill, they prepared for the journey ahead. The leftover meat from the carcass was taken and stored in their packs. The one who had shot the killing bolt had the privilege of taking the head. She planned to take it back to the dark fortress and make a trophy of it, as was the custom. They all wore necklaces with teeth hanging from them, taken from slain beasts and foes.

Having no further use for the deer, they left it. The wagon left a trail through the forest that could be followed by a novice tracker, and these goblins were no novices. Within a couple of hours, the wagon was in sight, and the following resumed.

The meat taken from the deer lasted them for many days, their packs slowly growing lighter as they ate. They ate only enough to maintain their strength – They were not given to gluttony. They saw the dwarves with the wagon stuffing an enormous amount of food down their throats, and they were filled with disgust, but they did not say anything. There was no need to say anything about the dwarves.

The days passed on an on. The dwarves’ speech and laughter resounded loudly through the forest, whereas the goblins had not said a word since the killing of the deer. A human would have not been able to keep up with the pace, succumbing to tiredness and sleep, but these were no humans. Dwarves and goblins could go for weeks without sleep, then sleep for days. The goblins took it in turns to sleep, always having the sleeper carried by two of the others. The passing of night and day did not bother then either, as both dwarf and goblin could see as well in the brightest day as in the pitchest black.

Eventually, the forest ended. A harsh line marked the divide between forest and mountain. The dwarven wagon was hauled up the slopes by the mules. The goblins opted to stay in the forest. Although they could remain hidden on the barren slopes of the mountain, it was easier to do so in the lush forest. Besides, their eyes were much keener than the Dwarves’ were, and could pick out every detail from where they were hiding.

The dwarf in the armour gave a speech in the dwarven tongue, and the dwarves set to work, giving no concern for quietness and subtlety. One of the goblins gave a low whistle, unmistakeable from a birdcall, and instantly the entire squad snapped to attention, eyes focused on the goblin. Five seconds of hand signals were given.

Three of the goblins immediately turned back the way the came and departed, leaving no trail behind them. They knew their destination and their mission. They would return to the dark fortress, and tell of what they had seen.

The other three goblins stayed where they were. They observed what was going on. One of them left briefly, and returned soon with the meat of a fox. They ate, relishing in the taste of blood and raw flesh. They were waiting for an opportunity to come. Although the dwarves had dug a rough hole into the mountainside, the angle of the hole and their position on the mountain made it impossible to see inside.

The wagon could not be navigated into that hole, so the dwarves had unloaded it, bringing the goods inside. With the wagon unloaded, they had no reason to go outside, and they remained hidden from the goblin’s eyes. After two days with no sign of the dwarves, the goblins rose as one. During the journey, they had observed the sleep patterns of each of the dwarves, and tonight they were to coincide. Silently, the three goblins slinked up the mountain, knives at the ready.

[Ottofar]

Okay. How about; a dwarf or two get wounded, then Urist saves the day. Some goblin(s) survive(s), and report  to the Dark Fortress, where Mőrul has become leader?

Also, really great writing going on there. There was something strange in the 1st chapter's first few sentences, which I would've worded differently. My native language isn't English, so I'm probably wrong.

[ed boy]

Do you mean Rith, perchance?

Spoiler: Chapter 3 (click to show/hide)

Silently, the goblins made their way down the passage. The mules had been tethered outside the entrance, and did not notice the goblins as they entered. The ground was rough and uneven, but their sharp eyes pierced through the darkness and spotted every detail. Although the goblins normally walked upright, in situations like these they crouched down, using their hands as much as their feet to move along. Their gloves and shoes were cave spider silk and leather, making no noise as the goblins moved.

The hole was roughly circular. It stretched straight into the mountain for a dozen paces, before widening out. During the digging, the dwarves had strewn the leftover rock along the side of the passage, constricting movement. Several precariously placed rocks threatened to fall and awaken the dwarves, but the goblins saw and avoided these.

At the end of the passage, there was a chamber. This one was large and circular. One of the goblins padded into it tentatively. The air was still, and filled with the sound of breathing. The floor was covered with goods from the wagon, and the dwarves and slept among these, drawing them over their prone bodies to act as crude bedding. The goblin looked around, and saw six of these bundles of dwarf and cloth. The seventh dwarf was different.

He had fallen asleep leaning against the wall near the entrance. His eyes were closed, and his head slumped forward, resting on the top of his breastplate. His axe was resting against the wall, the fingers of one hand draped over the shaft. The lead goblin made a few hand signals, and entered the chamber with the other goblins.

The goblins, satisfied that there was not an immediate threat, surveyed the goods piled in the chamber. There was nothing of huge value, but there were still some things worth taking. Many small things were taken, vanishing into the bags of the goblins. Boxes were opened and unpacked. Bags were carefully and silently emptied. Then they saw something that got their attention indeed.

One of the boxes had a false bottom. The goblins were masters of espionage and secrecy, and soon this bottom was found. A secret compartment was revealed, and a length of vellum was uncovered. The goblins could not read the script, but they did know the seals placed upon it.

There was a short conversation in sign language. One of the goblins took the vellum and left, leaving the others two behind. It crawled slowly out of the passage. Although it did not know what was written on the vellum, it did know that it was something important – the seals attested to that much. Filled with nervousness and excitement, the goblin’s hands started to shake. Its mastery of stealth was lost for an instant, but that instant was long enough. One of the stones was disturbed, and it fell to the floor, clacking loudly as stone met stone. The goblin froze. Two seconds later, it heard the sounds it had dreaded.

A bellow resounded down the passage. “Thief! Protect the hoard from the skulking filth!” The goblin abandoned all caution and fled, carrying its precious cargo with it. It could not escape the sounds that followed, and brought great sadness to it. It heard as its two fellows fought briefly but were struck down.

The goblin had its task, though, the importance of which was no doubt greater than the two who had died. Its path was through the Swift Forest and across the Ivory Prairie. This would bring it to Ôngtumzolak, where the empress of bone would no doubt grant it with great praise and riches.

Two days ahead was the other group of goblins. Their numbers allowed them to travel without needing to stop for rest and the gap widened. The forest transitioned gradually into plains. From these plains a great spike of rock rose. Where the dwarves built their homes into the mountains, the goblins built theirs coming out, like mere extrusions of the natural rock. A tenday after they left the dwarves, they arrived. The entrance to Ôngtumzolak was large and ornate, tales of goblin victories and successes carved into the walls. Two guards stood on either side of the entrance, and as the goblins arrived, they brought their left wrists to their right shoulders in greeting.

The goblins looked with disdain upon dwarven society, regarding it as inferior to their own. They were a crude and prejudiced people, unwilling to accept those of the other races. Goblins, however, were a much more tolerant and accepting. The dark fortresses were home to a plethora of different people: people had the same standing in society regardless of their species.

The goblins had tried to enlighten dwarven society through peaceful ways, but the dwarves were too strict and close-minded to see the error of their ways. The goblins had to resort to taking children, who were not yet set in their ways and views. They became productive and useful members of society then, learning the importance of goblin values and ways.

These abducted children had been known to rise to quite high positions in the goblin hierarchy. The empress of bone was one such example. Taken from the dwarves at a young age, she had been educated in the goblin ways of stealth and secrecy. She had combined this with her dwarven strength and become a formidable foe.

Goblin law dictates that when methods that are more verbose fail, differences can be resolved via duels, where the loser is killed. The Empress had partaken in many such duels, eliminating her enemies and political rivals. She had risen to the position of empress in Ôngtumzolak by this method, and the title “Empress of blood” had been bestowed upon her by her subjects.

It was goblin tradition to collect trophies from beasts and foes that have been slain, and the empress took this to an extreme. Her throne room had a door constructed from bone, and the centrepiece of the room was a throne constructed entirely of skulls. It was sitting atop this throne that she heard of Geshud Zas.

[Ottofar]

Yeah, Rith, sorry, confused the names.

I enjoy reading this thing, keep up the good work

[ed boy]

There'll be plenty more, I just need more plotlines.

[Ottofar]

Little peaceful life, after the goblin attack? Trap setting, and finishing the entrance?

Meanwhile goblins plan on sending some ambush parties to the dwarves.

Migrants arrive?

[ed boy]

Also, what your favourite fort on the DFMA? I'm going to want a blueprint to work towards, because otherwise I'll loose track of how the fort develops.

[ed boy]

Spoiler: chapter 4 (click to show/hide)

Deep in the Swift Forest, a goblin stumbled through the bushes. Normally quiet and stealthy, this goblin was crashing through the vegetation, the wildlife ahead scattering. As it passed, it left spatterings of blood behind it.

It was not in a good state. Travelling alone, it had no companions to carry it as it slept. Though it had tried to hide itself, it had been caught by elves, and it was now fleeing. Its strength was draining out of it, though. It could not manage to keep up the pace for long.

Ahead, it saw one last hope. The ground was rough and uneven, pitted with various holes, and this was a particularly large one. Large enough to contain a goblin, if needs be. Clambering into the hole, it curled up, and drew leaves and vegetation over itself to blend in with the forest floor. Satisfied with its camouflage, it rested.

A short while later, several figures gathered around the goblin. Taller than dwarves, and elves, they had large, bulbous eyes and carried weapons of wood. Elves, they were, the self-designated protectors of the forest. Though they hated to take to life of any creature, the goblins brought nothing but death and destruction, and killing them was necessary for the greater good.

Silently, they arranged themselves around where the goblin lay. Its blood stained the forest, and formed a crimson path to where the goblin now lay. As one, the elves lifted their spears and brought them down, impaling the goblin. It spasmed for a while, then stopped.

The elves then brushed away the leaves covering the goblin, and took its body out. As one, they tore it apart and started to eat it. With several elven mouths, it was not long before the goblin was reduced to bones.

It was then that the goblin’s possessions were gone through. Most of it items were discarded, as the elves abhorred things made from the animals and trees. Among the possessions was something that they kept, however. A piece of vellum. They could not read the runes on it, but they recognized the seals. One belonged to the dwarven Mountainhome of Tetóthinod, the other to the human town of Wematho. Although they did not care much for the dwarves, and even less for the humans, they kept the vellum, to report to their druid.

The dwarves of Geshud Zas knew none of this. They had awoken to goblins, thievery and knives. They did not dwell long on it, though. As soon as the goblin bodies were dumped, they addressed the matter at hand. Sleep schedules were constructed, splints were issued, and blood was cleared. The one unable to mine was given tools, and he worked on stone crafts. Trees were felled, and crude beds were constructed. The excess stone was dumped out the entrance, forming a rough slope up to the entrance of the fort.

The dwarves had a plan. Although mining out rock is hard work, it cannot be un-mined. The dwarves had planned this fortress beforehand, and right now they were constructing the entrance passage. They know the importance of the entrance – anybody wanting to get into the fort would have to come down the passage, and defensive resources could be concentrated in the passage.

The dwarves are very skilled and mining the rock, and within the month the entrance passage had been constructed. It stretched deep into the heart of the mountain, and wide enough to fit a wagon down it. As the dwarves had worked, the tunnel had been lengthening, and the dwarves had brought their possessions in with them. They only left if it was necessary to fell a tree for lumber.

At the end of the entrance passageway, however, there was a large circular chamber. This one had been constructed with care, as it was to be the heart of the fortress. It was in this chamber that the dwarves had stockpiled all their possessions, though those possessions were worryingly small in number.

On other side of the walls of the central chamber, the dwarves worked. They started to mine in great circles, forming a massive spiral. The spiral was to be large enough for two wagons side by side, and it was planned to stretch along the entirety of the fort. The dwarves had made little progress on the spiral, however.

The dwarves had been relying on the prepared food that they had brought with them. They had enough to last until winter, and they were expecting a caravan to come in autumn. Though the caravan would be bringing vital supplies, it would be expecting goods in return; hence, one of the dwarves had been tasked with producing stone crafts.

The worrying thing was the alcohol levels. Where water was a necessity to humans and alcohol was a luxury, with dwarves it was to opposite. Water clouded their minds and made them slow to move and think. Alcohol was what they needed to drink, or they would not function properly.

Although there was indeed a brook running through the forest nearby, water was a last resort for the dwarves. They had been drinking the alcohol that they had brought with them, and the empty barrels were piled high. It was the middle of spring, and they did not expect the booze to last through summer.

They had the seeds necessary for the growing of underground plants, plants that could be brewed into alcohol. The seeds could not simply be cast upon the rock and left to grow, though. The ground needed to be prepared.

A chamber, sticking out from the central spiral, was carved. This was to be their farm. Cursing having to go outside, five dwarves took up buckets and filled them with water from the brook. They took them inside and cast them upon the floor of the farm, repeating this process until the water was deep enough. The seeds were then cast. As the water drained and the rock was softened, the seeds took root, and large mushrooms started to grow.

They were known to the dwarves as plump helmets, and they were to foundation of any fort. Though they looked unappetising, and their taste was bland at best, they had plenty of advantages. They grew in all seasons and they grew fast, often reaching maturity in less than a season, though as this batch was only just planted they would still be some time.

As spring passed into summer, though, the work at Geshud Zas was disrupted. A lone individual had come through the forest, seeking refuge. Geshud Zas had its first migrant.