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Wait for the next release. I want usable mugs damn it!

55 (71.4%)

We can use the current one. I like the big trees and slightly smarter dorfs.

17 (22.1%)

I'll take .34.11 thanks. I want to know I'll get to kill things for sure.

5 (6.5%)

Total Members Voted: 77

[swordsmith04]

Holy crap, this thread is awesome. Can I be dorfed as 'Sword'? Non-military, preferably male, although either gender is fine with me. I'd ask for a turn as overseer, but my inexperience would probably doom the fort. I don't think I'd have any clue what to do with an ASCII fort that isn't mine. (Blame the LNP and the graphic sets that come with it.)

I just finished reading this entire thread. Haven't had time for DF or anything. Still took me almost 20 hours, spread out over 3 days. I've particularly liked those story entries, especially Mr Frog's and Hanslanda's. Also, Mr Frog, can I borrow the Spawn for my own game? I'm asking instead of just downloading one of the saves and copying the raws because you mentioned to someone else you had a less-buggy version of them than is in Spearbreakers.

I've been lurking Bay12 for a month or two, now, but this thread managed to draw me out of lurking, which is a pretty good feat considering I never register on anything. Sadly, you didn't spoil HFS for me (the spoiler was actually what introduced me to the game; TV Tropes can take you to some random places, if you let it.) I'm looking forward to when you guys actually breach it, though. Lots of !!Fun!! will be had.

[draco1234]

Just finished reading through this thread ( took me a while ) and I have to say it is definately the best thing I have read in a long while!  I had a lot of fun reading through the various journals as well.  I don't suppose I could be dorfed?  preferably a male militia member named 'Draco' if thats available. (should be fun being torn to shreds when the HFS is breached.)

[Splint]

Welcom aboard the crazy train boys! Added to the list.

[Paintbrushturkey]

update? plzplzplz

[Mr Frog]

@Paintbrushturkey:

I think Storm said that it's going to be a couple weeks.

@swordsmith:

I'll get around to putting them up eventually. Also, thank you for the kind words. I've consciously decided to step away from writing for a bit, as it seems to almost always lead to a nervous breakdown of apocalyptic proportions My main contributions to the thread for the foreseeable future will have to consist solely of witty comments.

[Splint]

update? plzplzplz

If I recall right, he's got exams so it'll be a week and a half to two and then he'll be free to play. he has the save, and he keeps active outside of being to play (though it's only in little spurts.)

@ Mr Frog - I have an idea for you, a pprelude to what got him sent in the first place. Only needs to be a one off or a sequence of recordings detailing that one thing he did to piss upmanage off enough to dump him in a horrible little blight on the world caked in blood that stinks of burning meat.

[stormtemplar]

Indeed. I'll have a preliminary update next wednesday and play from there.

[Hanslanda]

More meat for the grinder Welcome to Spearbreakers!

And now I present the latest update in the Urist saga, mystery dwarf included for fuller flavor.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 
Urist nodded, "Hell. Right. Gotcha. Everyone knows that is a myth."
The dramatic dwarf nodded, "Aye, so it is said. But they also say adamantine is a myth, and you have seen our militia wearing that myth."
Urist shook his head, "Could have been an alloy. Maybe cobaltite, aluminum, and steel."
Fischer laughed, "Really? That's a bit of a convoluted excuse for something quite easily explained. It's adamantine. Here," Fischer withdrew a dagger from her belt, handing it to Urist.
Urist looked at the beautifully made dagger, gently hefting it. It was so light, Urist felt as if it would float away. He tested the edge, gently rubbing his thumb across it. It nearly shaved his thumbprint off. Urist handed the dagger back, sighing, "Okay, so it IS adamantine. That doesn't prove hell is real."
Fischer sighed back, "Okay, listen. We have a mythical metal that is said to be the only thing holding the legions of hell back from the real world. We are in the midst of a war zone with the most feared enemy of dwarfkind, that was convienently a myth until about six or seven years ago. I'm going to go ahead and believe hell is real, because so far, the myths seem pretty accurate."
Urist shrugged, "Sure. I bet you believe in dragons too."
The other dwarf said, "Oh come on, don't be absurd. Everyone knows dragons aren't real."
Urist laughed with them, then said, "I better go, I'm not sure I can handle hearing more about this place right now. Its all a bit overwhelming."
Fischer smiled, "That's what Draignean said when he first got here too. Give it a few days, soon you'll understand."
Urist smiled, backing away, then started walking down the hall swiftly. He turned a corner, and a flustered looking Splint stopped him, "Hey, you. Whatever your name is. I need you to go down to the catacombs and count the full coffins and empty coffins. Then I want you to go down to the magma forges and ask the smiths how many of each kind of metal bar they have. Oh, and wafers. I need to know how many adamantine wafers are left. Hurry, it's vitally important."
Urist was stunned, "Uh, I don't live here... I'm not... Yeah, I'll get right on that." The two parted ways, Urist as confused as ever. He got curious as to what the magma forges were like, and what an adamantine wafer looked like, so he started down the stairs.
Slightly under an hour later, Urist reached the forges, somewhat out of breath. He leaned against the wall, breathing in the crisp, heated air. He smiled, enjoying the depth he was at. Only a few smiths were working, and this far below the surface, not many dwarves were hanging around. A lone idler sidled up to Urist, his voice hoarse, "Been here before?"
Urist eyed the dwarf, "Its you. From the research center. Why are you down here?"
The dwarf shrugged, "I had something I had to tell you."
"But I didn't even know I was coming down here."
The dwarf smiled oddly, not letting the expression reach his eyes, "Yes, but that doesn't mean no one knew you were coming here."
Urist turned on the odd dwarf, "What the hell are you talking about? No one knew, no one bothered asking me what I was doing."
The dwarf sighed, "Sorry, I truly enjoy being cryptic, its somewhat empowering. Don't concern yourself with my means and sources of information. Just know that I have a purpose for you, and soon."
Urist found himself growing angry, something in this dwarf's manner grating on his nerves, "If you don't explain yourself, a sore throat won't be the only thing you're sporting."
Urist got a cold look for his trouble, "Threats? From you? Don't be foolish. As to explanations, you will know what I meant when the time comes. If you don't make the right decision, millions will die. Worlds will burn." The dwarf smiled again, "You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Urist grinned coldly, "I guess you'll find out, won't you, you smarmy little bastard?"
The mystery dwarf's smile wavered, but as he turned to leave, he said, "Just remember this conversation when the time comes, and don't be a fool."

[Mr Frog]

@Splint:

I'd love to write some more stuff, but it just has not ended well for me of late I basically start panicking over whether I'll do a good job*, which is made worse by the fact that I actually have to publish it to the thread eventually and thus can't just keep editing it for eternity.

*Before anyone says anything -- yes, I am aware that my work on this thread has generally been well-received. However, this is not a rational sort of anxiety. There's a little part of my brain that's absolutely convinced that everything's going to go bad in the worst possible way and no amount of logic will ever sway it. Trust me. I have tried.

Anyways, I absolutely will not be writing anything until classes are out. We're currently doing review, and being shut in a room for 3 hours with nothing to do but brood is enough to drive me from 'anxiety attack' to 'Running around babbling!' Possibly after.

[Splint]

I cannot help to think you have a slight touch of mild multiple personality disporder, or just flat anxiety issues.

And Hans, again lovely work. And.... How the heck did the- oh right, Adamantine.

[Mr Frog]

@Hans:

Yikes, almost missed your story there Just put it in a separate post unless nobody's posted since your last one.

One thing I'm still concerned about is what exactly was in that drink Mr Frog gave him. Mr Frog doesn't seem like the type to do things just for giggles.

@Splint:

Anxiety issues, yes. I am always on edge. My resting heart rate is 50% higher than the average human's.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is an odd illness that may or may not even exist in a true pathological sense... I don't think it's a diagnosis that should be dragged out lightly, especially in a nonprofessional context. I certainly don't have it, in any case.

But this is the Spearbreakers thread, not the Mr Frog Moans About His Mental Issues thread :p  I think everyone would appreciate it if we steer the discussion away from this territory

[Hanslanda]

I cannot help to think you have a slight touch of mild multiple personality disporder, or just flat anxiety issues.

And Hans, again lovely work. And.... How the heck did the- oh right, Adamantine.

The thumb thing? Or something else?

[Splint]

Yes the thumb thing.

[Mitchewawa]

Oh hey. I have a huge origin story of Spawn. Mostly done in one sitting too.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

On the rise and fall of vampires; The True Spawn
Researched by unknowns, long past. Written by Mitch Istraemoth

Vampires are often a subject of myth in many cultures; whilst all who live know what a vampire is, no one knows from where the story originated. It is also strange that the foreign races with no ties to civilised sentient races, such as kobolds, often make cave paintings of beings similar to vampires. Even island-secluded beast races, none of whom had ever even known about the outside world, make art of their fanged brethren stalking the night. How did this creature become such a trope among every civilisation? Well, I and some like-minded associates have been scouring every lost ruins and every dusty library for any signs of historical evidence of the existence of vampires. Old, forgotten chronicles, wall engravings, even the scrapings of insane babblers.

Recently, a necromancer invaded the town of Spearbreakers, a place I had strangely enough come to rule for a year. Deler Inkblushed fell to our military, and though his fellow necromancers and legions of undead still wait outside, we were able to procure the book he was carrying from his carcass. 'We See Deler Inkblushed' was a shoddily written, self-indulging novel, featuring pop-up smut. However, knowing the ageless life of a necromancer, I read it anyway. It turns out Deler had existed since the dawn of Dwarves; and in one of the more sane parts of the book that (thankfully) did not include himself, he told of some of the worlds history.

Vampires had existed in all races, but all but the dwarves had made them extinct. The humans simply appraised the gods that had cursed some of them with vampirism with the offerings of an entire year's worth of babies born. The elves learnt to de-contaminate their water, and family members took shifts guarding over each other at night until inquisitors had weeded out the last of the vampires. Goblins, for one miserable month, starved themselves to near-extinction to separate those that were immune to hunger from those that weren't. Deler assumes that the beast races and kobolds, because they slept near each other due to their tribal nature, easily caught and mobbed vampires. However, dwarves were too stubborn, their law more based on reaction then investigation. Vampires thrived in dwarven settlements because no one knew how to hunt them down, bar witnessing a murder.

From the years 133BW (before the invention of the written word) to 4AW (after the invention of the written word), dwarves were plummeting into extinction from famine and war with a faction of goblins, led by a demon of with great power and an unspeakable list of kills to his name. In 2BW, a large number of dwarves had, because of a select few zealous vampire-enthusiasts, been poisoned with vampire blood. The cultists had infected major wells within the Mountainhome, the last remaining stronghold that had not fallen to the goblins. The dwarves managed to purge the wells, but it was too late. Nearly a tenth of the dwarven population had been cursed, which means another tenth of the population were cannibalised every few months. The ruling authority had to do something.

So, they waited for a miracle. And one happened. During one of many sieges, a section of housing was hit by a boulder from a catapault, causing a cave-in. Its inhabitants were crushed. It took weeks, but teams of miners managed to dig away at the cave-in, and found a live dwarf trapped under tons of stone. A normal dwarf would have been vaporised by the rocks, or if they miraculously survived that, simply died of dehydration. This was obviously a vampire. The mangled creature could not use its super-natural attributes to escape, and was helpless to resist being locked up and experimented on. The nobility suggested finding a weakness. During the day, for many weeks, this vampire was made a public spectacle, as passers by paid to stab, shoot, beat and mutilate the chained up dwarf, guards told to look for something someone does that actually wounds the vampire. Some nights, when the guards were available and needed extra gold, they opened up a side-business were particularly shady characters paid to rape the poor thing. Despite being stabbed, bludgeoned and beat in every imaginable part by every imaginable metal, it regenerated from the brink of death each time.

Months later, one particularly dark day, the goblins had gotten closer to breaking the Mountainhome. The food stockpiles had run out as vampires began to target farmers who lived in areas less population-dense. Most of the militia had died from hunger, vampires, disease, catapult or accident, and each week when the goblins assaulted the walls they were repelled by numbers growing thinner and thinner. Miners were forced to dig deeper and deeper to find iron to fuel the war-effort, lest they be forced to scavenge it from the dangerous battlefields. On this day, they in the darkness struck a mysterious blue metal. It took hours of swings to break loose, yet was lighter then the last breaths of a dying man. What little scraps the few miners who remained could break free were sent to the nobility, who had metalsmiths forge the mysterious metal into a single light, blue sword. The king himself, who rarely left his bedroom out of fear, was the first to grasp the hilt of the sword. As he swung it idly at a marble pillar, the air itself seemed to tear away at the sword's edge as it slashed right through the stone. His arm was weak from long, bed-ridden years, yet the pillar simply gave way to the sword. Onlookers knew what to do.

The Captain of the Guard, now wielding sword and leading a mob of angry and eager dwarves from every part of the fortress, marched from the palace to the publicly captive vampire, this day hung by his hands chained behind his back, with a box over his head. The locals were testing the effectiveness of rabid rats, locked in with the vampire's screaming, fanged face. However, the Captain cleared a path through the crowd, and took the box off the vampires head. The diseased rats fell off the vampires grotesque face, with lips, eyes and cheeks all chewed off. Many onlookers threw up or wretched at the sight, but the Captain simply seethed at the vampire as its features grew back from nothing. The vampire smirked and hissed at its captor, its face fully healed. It knew that the dwarves were desperate, and that even though he was in small pain, he could not be truly harmed. The Captain raised his sword and slapped the beast across the face with the flat of his blade. And something fantastic happened; as the metal struck flesh, the flesh began to sizzle and burn. The vampire felt pain. Not fleeting discomfort, but real pain. Like in the days before his transformation, when he would burn his fingers in the forges. The vampire screamed and kicked and yelled, dislocating its shoulders as its weight pulled them out of their sockets. That did not hurt him, but his face burned with holy fire. The Captain laughed, and the crowd cheered. Then he raised the sword above his head, and slashed down on the vampire's neck, and done what no others could; he pierced its bones. The sword simply melted the vampires spine away where it struck, and the vampire was beheaded. To this day, lost somewhere down in that long forgotten city, Deler writes that that the head of the vampire still adorns the throne room as a menacing ornament for the king.

For once, the nobility were in agreement. No one argued. nearly the whole city was levied in either forging iron picks, exploratory mining for more of this metal, now dubbed 'adamantine' after an attribute dwarves often like to associate themselves with, digging out existing adamantine, or bringing entire cartfuls back to the palace. Crafters, shop owners, housewives, nobles, all but the farmers, guards and brewers abandoned their trade in exchange for the glory of mining adamantine, and every dwarf was paid in good sums of gold for their efforts. It did not take long for a curfew to take effect in order to 'reduce darkness-related accidents', though most knew it was to curb the muggings (brought by the new influx of wealth, donated by the king from his very own coffers) and vampire attacks that happened late at night. It didn't take long after that before a previously emptied tunnel had to be closed off after a 'mining accident, brought by digging too deep. No one knew what happened, but dozens died that day. Soon, all of the adamantine that people dared to dig out had been dug, and all of it was stockpiled at the palace. No one dared to keep any of it for themselves; they knew the importance of their work.

Over the course of a few weeks, each and every dwarf was rounded up and brought to the palace by close to one hundred levied guards. Every dwarf that did not comply with the round up were assumed (always correctly) to be vampires, and were immediately put down with their adamantine blades. The long hall was perfect for forming snaking queues of up to a few thousand, where each and every dwarf was touched by the flat of an adamantine sword. The hundreds vampires who were foolish enough to even come to the palace were caught and sent to a specially dug dungeon, where Deler assumes they were locked in for eternity. For the first time in over a century, the dwarves felt safe from vampires. Though it wouldn't be months later until the vampire threat was considered quashed, the enthusiastic mobs were quick to point out possible vampires to the guards, whose numbers of employment had increased dramatically after the mining boom died down. After all, post a steady wage, few wanted to go back to being a housewife.

Decades later, the fortresses was abandoned. Their new adamantine weapons allowed them to push back the goblins, and take back their old homes. People were forced to emigrate the Mountainhome to fill the retaken fortresses, including wonderous metropolises whose quality of living far surpassed that of the Mountainhome. Eventually, the old fortress was left behind, long-hollowed out for minerals and adamantine. Also left behind was the eternal dungeon of vampires, who, beneath leagues of rock and soil, changed. Their dungeon was more than a simple prison; it was a torture ground. The king had lost loved ones to vampires, and unlike the populace who were happy to just be rid of the vampires, he sought to punish those that remained. Beneath the skin of every vampire, he ordered his surgeons to weave suits of adamantine to be implemented as an eternal brand to those who dared terrorise the night. No one but the highest of the nobility (who included Deler, apparently) knew about this horrible torture. The vampires suffered, every second of every day, a pain-event-horizon. Given enough suffering, isolation, time and the supernatural properties of both vampires and adamantine, it was inevitable that adventurers discovered... something not quite dwarven. Since then, the adventurers were never heard from again, and monster attacks increased dramatically across the world.

But how can we be sure Deler is correct? What if the Spawn and vampires are unrelated? Well, there are a few coincidences that line up perfectly to make it not only feasible, but extremely likely:

• The ungodly agility, strength and endurance of both vampires and Spawn.
• Both can indoctrinate their victims, though most choose only to cannibalise and kill their victims.
• We know that both have dwarven origins.
• The fangs
• The disturbance of the vampire tomb correlates with the years the Spawn were first seen.
• Both are nigh invulnerable; needing no sleep, food, drink or even companionship to stay alive.

So, Deler knew how the Spawn came to be. And where the vampires went. It disappoints me that he did not come forward with first-hand accounts of the world before written history, though I would have done the same if I were a necromancer on an (and I can sympathise with this) insane quest for power. Now I and my associates will be digging more into the history of the Spawn, in order to find their weakness. I know for a fact that, while effective, adamantine does not burn their flesh with a touch and I doubt any metal will. Ancient stories of Syrupleaf tell stories of how rabble with catapults managed to fend off sieges, but that seems highly unlikely. Just as unlikely as heroes of impossible skill batting Spawn miles across the landscape with warhammers.

- Signed, still looking, Mitch.

[Splint]

Mitch, that was made of win.

Time for me to continue with the Barbarians after I play through more of Swordthunders then.