A long time ago in the world of Slozgo Xestsu, which is a strange name indeed, a small group of dwarves embarked on a small piece of land, hoping to soothe their greedy appetites for building materials and obsession inspired contraptions.
The land was green and full of trees, sided by a body of sea water so boring it had no waves. The dwarves dug at the side of the sandy cliffs, into the ground and built their home, procrastinatingly abandoning the wise arrangements they had thought of while they were traveling. Plans were abandoned but their inexperience led them to inspiration.
Soon they discovered that invaders could not penetrate their entrance, even though it was a simple retracting bridge, clearly open and accessible to those who tend to destroy such simple defenses. Although safe from the immediate threat, they found their internal traps to be sad and disappointed at the lack of invading material to work with. They were simple cages, but they deserved at least a chance to fulfill their destiny! Not to mention, that while dwarves are content to stay on the inside, no one could ever enter their fortress to gawk at the implausibility and crudeness with which it was made.
They decided, invaders should be invited but not accommodated as guests. Rather, they should be treated appropriately for their arrogance and, as dwarves would have it, made easy to process after receiving their surprise accident and ceased to be so arrogant as to walk, breathe and not bleed from their orifices.
Naturally a trap was conceived. Not so much an elaborate trap, but a simple collection of constructions designed to clarify how the dwarves felt for their uninvited guests. And water was to be its main ingredient. A crafty room to hold it while its contents contemplated their actions - slowly... it is not polite to rush guests, even uninvited ones.
The room had many entrances and many exits, all controlled by floodgates. The narrow corridors leading to the fortress's gate were filled with traps prepared to capture any and all who dared not stand in the room and patiently wait for their prize to arrive. Pumps were prepared and the dwarves were prudent enough to remember that what goes in, must go out, motivating them to create a path for the water to flow out once its services were no longer needed. And at the other side, the gate, as if possessing the shape of cake, would be waiting open, inviting, seductive to the filth that did not take any pride in creation but only in usurping.
The dwarves were also careless however. The invaders thought little of floodgates, closed or open and proceeded to destroy them out of spite and jealousy for the dwarves' superior craftsmanship and ingenuity. "Pleased" was a word that left the dwarves' vocabulary - they had to bring it back! Next time, they would be prepared...
There was obvious need for change. Drawbridges were conceived as doors, elaborate exterior corridors to combat the destructive urges of trolls and other scum and some dwarves even proclaimed "Fuck it! Let's just flush them into the sea!". But no, their greed would not let them throw away the spoils of their flawless victories... a more direct approach was decided upon.
And from that inspiration a new trap was born: The one that was to be called Chewey!
The cleverly chosen name hid the trap's vicious nature, while making certain dwarves think of tall, hairy monsters that speak in growls and others complain of misspelling. An arrangement of serrated blades, spears and spikes prepared to provide only the most warm of welcomes, warm as blood and undisposed fecal matter, quickly leaving the bodies of trespassers, as if in fear of being separated from itself more times than was strictly necessary for the fulfillment of the dwarves' angry god.
The dwarves were thorough - half the traps were full of blades, of iron and copper, capable of detecting the vile stench that warty creatures of anti-dwarf sentiment carry, as well as prepare said creatures for easy storage by saving them from the trouble of limbs and structural integrity
see Note at bottom of page.
The remaining half of the traps were hidden spears and spikes, included for those infidels who find it smart to stand between the spinning blades, supposedly mocking their makers for their lack of foresight. It also provided the dwarves with an alternative, should the blades become preoccupied with their many guests.
And it was beautiful. Even before it matured into a full trap, it digested many invaders. From inception, it proved it was a true child of the dwarves, simple and exaggerated but most certainly effective. Most importantly, the dwarves now could share their fun, for as they say "Fun worth sharing is fun not worth having alone!".
Years passed and Chewey served the fortress of Steppeglazed loyally. But a new threat was lurking - an unseen threat, but one that every dwarf could feel. As time had passed, the fields and Chewey's teeth had become overrun by blood, both red and teal (a disgusting color that appeals to most dwarves but not these) and the many spoils of war. The dwarves in their prosperity had amassed overwhelming amounts of food and drink, as well as crafts and rock. They felt their souls bogged down from all their wealth, feeling empty in the abundance. The days went by slower and slower, until collecting the scattered possessions became torturous. At times it seemed time would go back and forth so much they could hardly tell the date. Their wisest tried to explain the long delays, discussing the ever elusive "FPS" that most dwarves don't understand since it isn't a random amalgam of nouns and adjectives. Devices were conceived to destroy the excessive stocks that confused the dwarves whenever they decided to move and large export deals were made, offering tens of thousands in wealth to traders, elves no less!
Alas, nothing could be done. The cascade had started long ago and the fortress of Steppeglazed had become a place between worlds, a shadow of its own success. The propagation of fun had disturbed the fabric of the land. As it was fateful, it was abandoned by its spirit and forgotten. The legend of Chewey never died as attempts to reconstruct it in all its glory and perfect its form have been under way ever since and it will always be remembered as a warning and inspiration to younger dwarves.
NoteIt is not commonly known, but dwarves have a certain oxymorous relationship with their bodies. While morally driven to maintain them whole, once a part is severed, they succumb to their equally strong primal drive to maintain the new form, released from its physical limits - each limb on its own. For instance, many believe they do not know how to use crutches - the truth is, they don't want to. Most prefer to crawl along the floor and use their crotch to fire their crossbows rather than return to the emotionally painful existence of possessing all 4 limbs or even the ability to walk upright.
ExplanationFecal matter is an imaginary substance appearing occasionally in dwarven fiction. Some engravers and artisans find it an interesting way to explain how creatures in other worlds process their food. Many a wise dwarf has tried to understand how exactly food seems to be contained in creatures, being compressed infinitely, until pain and injuries cause it to be vomited in chunks and streams. Fictional creatures often possess bodily mechanisms to dispose of this excess providing them with supernatural capabilities to contain their need to expel it when harmed, allowing them to fight for incredibly long periods of time, often overpowering their enemies by this advantage alone. Some have even proposed constructions that would allow a dwarf to do the same and acquire said advantages. Names such as "stern", "lavatory" and "toilet" have been suggested, but the notion has not caught on.
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Topic: Chewey - the poetry of carnage (Read 1202 times)