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[Broseph Stalin]

The caverns were silent. Even the wounded dwarves ceased their groaning as the gravity of what had just occurred dawned on them. Dumplin Lakewanders, garbage dwarf and short order goblin fodder had just killed one of the most fearsome foes that had ever besieged Arrowstockades. Even Cerol seemed impressed ,in his own silently indifferent way. The veteran warriors had come to inspect the battlefield now that the killing was done. (Obviously they wouldn't risk injury by actually helping in any capacity.)

   Dumplin limped forward. Either her Poleyn or her knee had been badly crushed and her leg suffered a limited range of mobility. Nevertheless she stood proudly.  Feb One-Eye looked her over, from now on she would demand respect. She had proven her resilience countless times over the years and she was now twice proven as a capable warrior. This particular achievement would not go unnoticed.
   Dwarves gathered around to stare at the great fallen body. To delight in the macabre spectacle of the monsters twisted, broken form. Tath had begun hugging the beasts snout and caressing it's nose. “This could be devastating for the cavern ecosystem,” she explained.

“You!” barked Feb pointing to a gawing cavern dwarf. “Get this big bastard to the butchers shop.”
The dwarf looked at the monster and then at Feb with an incredulous stare.
“Now!” Feb clarified.
The poor dwarf gripped the tip of the huge skinless tail as tightly as he could and pulled with all his might towards the grand staircase. (Dumplin took a moment to appreciate how easy she'd gotten off hauling stone.) At first the huge corpse didn't budge but the dwarf pulled with all of his might and it slid slightly in the soft earth. With another great pull the carcass jerked towards the stairs and with a third it jerked straight up and with a low gurgling splat spit a glob of silvery awfulness all over Tath.

[Broseph Stalin]

You know how I keep saying I'm going to get my shit together? I finally did. I've made an effort and I worked out enough time in the weak to plan or write as the situation requires without compromising my obligations and I'm comfortable saying you can expect updates Monday Wednesday and Friday. Expect the updates to get a little bigger too.

[Broseph Stalin]

 There were cries of panic for a moment before Feb with a casual motion hacked almost completely through the monster's neck. With another chop for good measure the creatures head and body became two distinct objects and it was most assuredly properly dead. Dumplin rushed to Tath's aid but found herself stopped by a long, razor-sharp, incandescent blade resting against her chest. Cerol's eyes issued a mortal threat to Dumat but he spoke only to Tath.
 
“Can you stand?” He asked. There was a curiosity in his voice but no shred of empathy.

“I can stand.” She replied.

“How do you feel?” He asked. Again he was curious but most certainly did not care about her health.

“My arm tingles.” She replied. Her left side had taken the worst of it and her left arm in particular was covered in the foul smelling silvery fluid.

“Take the carcass to the butchery.” Cerol said in his low gravelly voice. “Leave the head, touch nothing else. The Overseer will want the area flooded and sterilized. The wounded will report to the hospital unassisted. The rest of you return to your duties.” With that Cerol left and the warriors of Gemclod closely followed. Dumplin reclaimed Obok and led the Hairless Baboons ,sans Tath, to the barracks to spar.




After a long day of work dwarves flocked to the newly refurbished dining hall to relax and unwind.The Hall was filled with music and laughter as the bard played a freshly written song chronicling the defeat of Bandrims. The addition of a “tavern” to the dining hall saw a sharp increase in gambling, music playing, fighting, and general dwarven zest for life. The warm golden candle light reflected off the brilliant black stone of the walls and furniture giving the entire hall an inviting silvery sheen. Friends gathered around to to enjoy a plate of odd but hearty fare and a frothy mug of strong ale. In the midst of all this happiness Dumplin felt quite out of place.

 Yes, Dumplin Lakewanders was feeling very upset with herself. She was concerned for Tath's well-being, for all her experience she was still a City Dwarf at heart with no understanding of the subtleties of fortress life. Though she hadn't thought to ask her squadmates judging by Cerol's concern it was clearly not an errant sneeze that struck Tath.  She was concerned about what would happen to Obok if the next time she stared down death it didn't blink. Asen was a fine man but he was too absent minded and truth be told too self absorbed to raise a child in this madhouse. She was concerned for her squad mates, other than Inod and Degel she'd manipulated them all into doing exceptionally dangerous work and she was beginning to realize she couldn't be responsible for their safety. But what she was most concerned with, and the reason she was so upset with herself, was the news that Feb One-Eye had heroically slain the forgotten beast Bandrims.

Feb One-Eye hadn't rushed to the aid of the cavern dwarves despite being woefully untrained and under equipped. Feb One-Eye hadn't made his peace with the gods and hung on like death while an ancient monster tried to smash him into a pulp. Feb One-Eye hadn't gripped a tiny piece of metal in his hands and jammed it into the giant thrashing skull. Feb One Eye helped himself to extra rations and light conversation with the other important dwarves while all hands rushed to the caverns. Feb One-Eye had encountered the monster entirely by accident after presuming it to be dead. Feb One-Eye had expended only the effort necessary for two strikes after finding the monster nine tenths deceased and himself directly beside it's throat. But no, the technically correct story that was told was of Feb One-Eye killing a monster older than time with two strokes of his blade and never suffering a scratch. Of all her other concerns Dumplin was focused intently on her hatred for Feb One-Eye and she was upset about how petty that felt.

[Broseph Stalin]

Boom! Bonus update.

[Liber celi]

Boom! Bonus update.

Sweet!

Man, don't we all hate killstealers?

[Broseph Stalin]

 
   Their danger room training had been pushed back so the Baboons entered the Barracks to spar. Dumat was surprised to find that Tath would be joining them. Apparently the doctor had taken a look at her deemed her fine and after a thorough cleaning cleared her to return to work. The panic, she explained, had been due to the nature of the syndromes associated with forgotten beast spew. It could apparently cause permanent blindness, spontaneous bleeding, or instantaneous death and the contaminants maintained their virulence indefinitely and at very small doses. Had she gotten a particularly nasty syndrome and had it spread to the fortress it may have been catastrophic. She was very lucky that it had caused only temporary numbness, an unpleasant itching sensation, and ,she choked back tears, the death of her hair mushrooms. Dumplin assured her that there was no greater honor for a mushroom than to die in combat.

   Degel as the captain of the Baboons and sole dwarf in charge of overseeing their training listened carefully while Dumplin explained what they would be doing today. If they had no choice but do useless training they would at least make it practical. She had constructed a series of drills to simulate defending yourself if you were charged by an enemy and didn't have time to knock another bolt. One dwarf would play the invader and charge from twenty paces. The defender would try to draw their crossbow, strike the aggressor using their own momentum to knock them down, and prepare a bolt to fire again. They would also be practicing basic strikes and parries with the crossbow that could buy life saving seconds if the archer was caught without ammunition.

   The Baboons were bolstered by their victory against Bandrims and quickly picked up on the simpler techniques. Athel in particular took well to close quarters combat. She was always eager to learn and practice and that spirit made her a formidable opponent. She spent most of the morning bludgeoning the much larger and much more vicious Iral while he curled up into a ball and protected his beard. Stodir discovered that by using his unusual height to strike down at an opponent he could follow up with a nigh unblockable knee strike before their guard could be redirected. Even Vakun quickly learned to identify the general location of an attacker by sound and to strike quickly and viciously near where their head should be. Angzak most of all was tenacious and spirited, by the time the sun found the horizon she had essentially invented a new form of combat. The Baboons were finally functioning as a unit.


The group was quite proud of themselves when Cerol arrived. Some of the Baboons deluded themselves into expecting some kind of praise but he wordlessly surveyed the training groups as always. Degel had over the course of the day developed a very unhealthy sense of his own importance and found it acceptable to address Cerol.

“Sir,” Degel began. “I believe now that my squad has established itself as true warriors new armor is appropriate.”

Cerol did not respond.

“I can appreciate that there's a limited supply but I'm sure one of the less veteran squads could make due with our old equipment.”

“Warriors?” Cerol asked.

Degel was confused for a moment. “While we didn't strike the deadly blow we tasted combat and we did hold our own against a very powerful enemy.”

“Warriors?” Cerol asked again.

There was silence as dwarves stopped training to watch.

“Follow.” Cerol said.

There was a panic in Degel's eyes as he and the Baboons followed the metallic footfalls up the stairs to the archery targets.

“Disperse.” He said. The marksdwarves quickly gathered their equipment and fled down the stairs as the Baboons maintained a cluster behind the wraith they called Commander.

“Stay here.”  He said. Cerol disappeared downstairs and did not return for some time.
Dumplin noted the dread growing in Degel's face as he came to realize exactly how poor of a decision he'd made in challenging the most dangerous entity on the planet. The Baboons stood paralyzed with fear as the sound of metal boots on hardwood drew closer once more.

'Perhaps we could defeat him as a group,' Dumplin thought to herself.

The footsteps drew louder and closer.

'Perhaps we could convince him it was an honest mistake,' Dumplin thought to herself.

Cerols head appeared at the top of the stairs.

'Perhaps if we stand in a row he won't be able to cut through all of us.' Dumplin thought to herself.

The footfalls stopped.

'I think we're about to die.' Dumplin thought to herself.

[Broseph Stalin]

Cerol carried in his arms a few miscellaneous objects and approached an archery target. For now the Baboons were beneath his interest. He stood up a long staff and placed on top of it a stuffed shirt and a sack and with a few adjustments created a simple scarecrow. In front of one of the targets.

“This is Urist.” He said straightening the scarecrow. A few of the Baboons chuckled nervously.
“Urist is a very bad person.”  He affixed a charcoal sketch of an angry face to the sack. The chuckling evolved into more confident laughter.
“Urist will kill you if you let him.” Cerol Tied a sleeve into a knot around a training sword.
“Urist has a family.”  There was no laughter this time.
“Urist has a wife who is very angry at him. She doesn't want him to be a soldier. She wants him to stay at home and find a good safe job. She doesn't like him being away from home. She doesn't like raising their son alone. Urist is very angry at his wife. He can't find a good job in the city. He doesn't want to sweep up a shop while the other men are off fighting for honor and gold and defending their kingdom against the murderous dwarves of Arrowstockades. He doesn't want to raise a son who can't respect him. They had a fight before he left. She usually prepares him a few snacks to enjoy when he's marching. She didn't give him anything this time. But his son did.”
Cerol produced a small wooden tchotchke and tucked it into a pouch suspended from the shirt.
“A small wooden wolf. It's his second most favorite toy. He gave it to his father so it could protect him. If Urist does not return home his wife will forever lament the snack she didn't make him. She will wonder if his last thoughts of her were ill. His son will always question whether he loved his father enough to give him his most favorite toy. If perhaps had he offered him the small wooden bear for protection he would have survived. They will both question whether he suffered. Whether he died quickly or rotted away in a cage. Whether he fought valiantly or whether he was dragged into the depths of a dwarven stronghold to die screaming. His family will resent his wife for not keeping him at home. Their relationship will not mend. His friends will wonder if they could have helped him. They will grow distant from each other.His son will go hungry for many nights until his wife can bring herself to sell his belongings and the town will look down on her when she does. Every memory you have, every ordeal you've overcome, every person you've come to love- Urist has just as many.”
The silence hung thick in the air. As Cerol strafed back and forth in front of them. Finally he stopped, turned towards them and stared through the empty slits in his helmet.
“Fire captain.” Cerol said.
Degel aimed his crossbow but his hands began to tremble and he paused. Without a word he brought his weapon to rest and looked down.

Cerol approached. “A boy wearing his fathers clothes is not a man.” He said. “A soft dwarf clad in mail is not a warrior. You are just a foolish boy playing games. When you are ready for the appellation of a warrior then claim that title and not a moment sooner.” Cerol turned and walked away.

The goblin had a name. It had a family. It had a cause it deemed worthy of killing for, worthy of dying for. She did not feel remorse when she killed it because she did not appreciate the depth of her actions. She saw an invader, not a person. She had taken a life. She had looked at a soul with as many reasons to live she had and she had made the conscious decision to destroy it. She had to confront her true nature. If she had stopped to think, if she had known that the goblin had a life and a family and dreams and ambitions would she still have killed it? Even if it was the only option could she bring herself to take a life?

 Cerol turned and walked away. Degel remained with his weapon at rest staring at his boots.

Not everyone was cut out to be a warrior. After all, the dwarves of Arrowstockades weren't always the industrious, put-upon, innocent souls. When the traders wanted a better deal than the broker was prepared to offer they just raided the entire caravan. Dumplin recalled a young fresh faced elven woman who asked that the fortress stop clear cutting the surrounding forest. She was refused and as she was leaving ten dwarves with knuckle dusters, clubs, and sharp knives broke her arms and legs, knocked out all of her teeth, and nearly disemboweled her as a message to elven homelands. Sure the dwarves were often attacked without provocation but they were just as likely to have earned whatever they got.
If it hadn't been a goblin raider, if it had been an elf or a human or a soldier of some other civilization trying to bring justice to the murderous dwarves of Arrowstockades what would she have done?

Protect Obok her instincts answered. There was a twang and the metallic footfalls ceased. A bolt protruded from the sack. Dumplins crossbow rested empty in her hands. Though she didn't turn to acknowledge him she could feel that from behind his great winged helmet the Cerol Sabershaft was smiling.

[Lalasa]

Just posting to say this story is awesome and I am watching this.  You do a great job of adding a realistic backdrop to the ASCII workings of our fortresses, and I love it.

[ShadowHammer]

That was deep, man.
Love the story, it's very dwarfy but at the same time, not dwarfy.
If that makes any sense.

[Broseph Stalin]

Dumplin found herself sitting in the dining hall once more. The jovial atmosphere somehow made her feel so very alone. Killing Urist was a conscious decision, she wasn't divorced from the experience like she was when she killed the goblin raider. Even if he was a scare crow, and she had renounced part of her soul to do it. The enemies of the fortress were her enemies now, right or wrong she was a soldier of Arrowstockades. She understood her place in the fortress now and she understood that she wasn't the person she thought she was.

“Dumplin!” The greeting disturbed her wallowing. She looked up to see Asen standing over her with a smile. “I have terrific news!”
“I could you use some terrific news.” Dumplin said.
“We've been invited to a party!”

Dumplin sank. “I don't think a party would cheer me up.”

In the fortress “party” meant “let's hang around in the dining hall like we always do.”

“A proper party!” Asen said happily. “The nobility are having a private party to mark the end of Goblin Christmas and the start of the new year and I was told we're invited!”

“Well that is terrific!” Dumplin exclaimed.
Perhaps if she discussed the slaying of Bandrims with the higher ups the REAL story would stick. She would finally be recognized for her accomplishments. She could never take back what she'd given up but making Feb look foolish and enjoying a fancy party might just lift her spirits. Dumplin took another bite of slop. The situation suddenly looked a bit brighter
 
The next day Dumplin was informed by Feb One Eye that something had prompted a new excavation of adamantine and so the veteran squads traded up and the squads beneath them received their hand me downs.  Rather than plodding around in heavy, ineffectual bronze armor Dumplin would now have a suit of Welded Mithril.. Just in time too, the Poleyn that joined the armor on her shins to the armor on her thighs had in fact been damaged and she could not move properly in her old set. It was brilliant and and silvery and light and strong and all around spectacular. She felt weightless in it, she felt dangerous in it, she was a real warrior now.

   Their training was much more spirited now. The Baboons now recognized Dumplin as a true warrior who had in some small capacity earned Cerol's respect. They followed her orders without question. For almost a week the Baboons honed their skills until they were as capable with a crossbow as some dwarves were with a sword. As she eased into a stable routine Dumplin began looking forward to the party. Tomorrow night  she and Asen would rub elbows with the nobles and Cerol would tell them all that she was a true warrior and she would tell them that Feb One-Eye was a lying weenie. These happy thoughts were interrupted by an overwhelming sense of doom and terror.

Cerol was coming. It was death that was his career, it was death that was his passion, it was death that was his one purpose in life and it was death that followed him. His appearance, his demeanor, even his scent carried the frightful tension of those long and nerve fraying seconds before an ambush. She hadn't noticed before but wherever Cerol went death followed. He did not address them, he simply stared and with a beckoning finger directed them to follow. He stepped his long death filled steps in perfect rhythm and perfect silence and led them out into the dense forest. Finally he came to a rest at a break in the trees and instructed them to go enter the clearing.

Dumplin felt the blood leave her face. In the center of the large clearing stood a nude goblin woman tied to a post.

[frostilicus]

I'm guessing you meant Feb in the second-to-last sentence? Not to be a douche, but...?

[Broseph Stalin]

I'm guessing you meant Feb in the second-to-last sentence? Not to be a douche, but...?

Where exactly? Cerol is the one they're following if that's what you mean.

[frostilicus]

Now I feel dumb. I was thinking Feb was the dwarf who dragged them all to the scarecrow demonstration.
Once Feb beheaded the FB they melded into one in my brain.

[Broseph Stalin]

Now I feel dumb. I was thinking Feb was the dwarf who dragged them all to the scarecrow demonstration.
Once Feb beheaded the FB they melded into one in my brain.

The easiest way to keep them separate is to remember Cerol is the literal manifestation of fear and death and Feb is a giant wobbly dick.

[frostilicus]

Now I feel dumb. I was thinking Feb was the dwarf who dragged them all to the scarecrow demonstration.
Once Feb beheaded the FB they melded into one in my brain.

The easiest way to keep them separate is to remember Cerol is the literal manifestation of fear and death and Feb is a giant wobbly dick.

Haha. Not that I would forget after that, though.