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[Zako]

Sweet thanks! Here is a bit of backstory for my dwarf: he is training himself as a undead hunter & is trying to find out where they spring up from by doing undercover work for himself but using crafty alibi's to cover his tracks. So far no-one has found him out. Be sure to give him some close combat training if possible without being mauled by a certain captain...

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Poor old Bertrand.
What is a mad scientist to do when his own creations just bugger off without a word of thanks.
Interestingly, did you know that the word bugger is derived from a word in medieval French, and was coined when the Knights Templar were accused of sodomy and other such things when the king wanted their money.

[Kagus]

There are apparently multiple backgrounds for that word...  One says that the the members of the Bulgarus movement, a Gnostic dualistic sect, were called heathens "bougres" by the French.  Since heretics would naturally approach sex in a different way than most "normal" people, they probably committed a lot of sodomy.  Hence, bougre - bugger - up the bum.

Another one (the first one I read) was that the Bougres were a different religious sect who believed that the physical world was a creation of the devil, and thus innately evil.  Only the spiritual realm was created by God, and wast thus pure.  Bougres sought to punish their flesh (a physical manifestation, thus made by the devil, thus evil) and attain pure spirituality with God (praying, death).  Since bringing forth more people into the evil physical world would be a very nasty thing to do and would only prolong the existence of such a foul place, they performed many different types of birth control.  Including one very simple and easy one (for the man, at least).

Hence, Bougre - bugger - up the bum.

[Heavy Flak]

From the files of Aryn Estetar
23^rd of Moonstone, 1063

How sweet it is, the comfort that comes with monotony.  We've made lots of headway around the fortress.  The pumps were operational, but Rice complained about a structural problem underneath the temple of Zefon.  It has since been corrected, the sand bolstered with extra basalt walls, and starting tomorrow the pumps will be turned on again, the cool water flowing once more.  As much as I dislike the Zefonists and their leader, the last thing I need is for the temple itself to collapse.  It's right above the bedrooms, and in falling would most likely crush the majority of my labor.  That will never do. 

The Orbsbarb brat finished his little pet project in the crafts shop earlier this week, a simple tower-cap set of earrings.  Monetarily, it's worthless, a paltry some of coin.  But the craftsmanship is admittedly elegant.  It menaces with spikes of anchovy bone and mako shark leather, and on it is a tiny picture of a dwarf in turtle shell.  He named it, "Rentsmith the Recreation of Night", and blushing as bright as the sun, gave it to an overjoyed Dodik-Come-Lately.   He mumbled something about wanting to be a wood worker when he came of age, and no one at the scene had the stones to ask just which type he meant.

Lastly, the first birth in ... years happened today.  Jool's wife Kib gave birth to another little girl, Obok.  This brings with it ill omens.  Specifically, I'm not working my bearded charges hard enough if they're finding the time to reproduce.  Jools is ecstatic, but I'm sure that will turn to sorrow soon enough.  His wife is one of our champion wrestlers, and I highly doubt she'll be breaking from the tradition of using her spawn as a shield or bludgeon to toughen it up just so it might see a second year of life.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 28^th of Moonstone, 1063

"AN AMBUSH!  CURSE THEM!"

The four marksgoblins had made it closer to the fortress than any had in years - they were on the bridge.  Furnace Operator Inkyveil was the one who had loosed the cry, taking a bolt through the arm for his troubles.  Stonecrafter Daggerthrones, creator of one of the fortresses legendary piccolos, tried to dodge through the rain of bolts.  One hit him square in the chest, his eyes widening as blood spilled from the wound and his mouth. 

Before Sodel Abbeybucks, the last remaining Swords Dwarf could arrive on the scene, Daggerthrones had bled out, choked to death on his own blood. 

In a fury, Sodel lopped off the right wrist of the first Goblin he fell upon, his crossbow dropping to the sand.  The sword was thrust upwards, through his chin out and the top of his head.  Yanking his blade free, Sodel spun in a tight circle, lopping the leg off one Goblin, and bisecting another.  Turning to kill the one-legged crossbowman, he didn't see the fourth, crouched behind the rise of sand, readying his crossbow.

Before the green skin could fire, his forehead exploded, a crimson shower spraying out the back of his head.  He dropped with a grunt, rolling down the incline.  Glancing over his shoulder to see the tail end of the goblins life, he looked forward and saw Sparrow, dirt streaked, weather-worn, and grinning wide, slotting another bolt into his crossbow.  The hunter gave a wave and turned back towards the courtyard, prepared to take this last encounter to Glacies, and perhaps get his own squad named. 

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 3^rd of Obsidian, 1063

Makrond clicked his tongue against his teeth, quietly talking around the pins in his mouth.  Varen, looking increasingly agitated, stood atop the wooden platform, his arms held painfully out at his sides.  The leather worker pulled the long length of measuring tape from around his neck and holding it to Varen's wrist, strung it out to his elbow.  He measured twice, making a few marks in rough chalk on the poncho of untouched leather the Spearman had draped over him.

"Are you almost done?" Varen asked, his arms trembling in the air.
"Almost," Makrond soothed, squatting down to make a quick check of his inseam.  "You wanted quality, yes?  Quality takes time."
"I've been standing here for over an hour, and I hope you realize I don't have much off time."
"You asked for a full outfit, all leather.  Leather trousers, tunic, hood, cloak, boots and gloves.  This takes time!  Now we're almost done, stop moving or I won't get an accurate measurement."

Varen tensed at the sound of heavy footsteps clomping down the hallway.  Eyes widening, he said softly, "Quick, Makrond, go lock the door."
"Why?  If that's a customer, I don't want him to think we're closed!"
"But it's not, it's-"

The door swung open, the light outside silhouetting Stravitch with streaks of orange.  As he stepped inside, his features coming out of the blackness, he scowled, pointing a finger at Varen.  "There you are!  I've been looking for you for over an hour!  C'mon, it's two-for-one at Dodik's."

"Sir, I..." Varen started, seeming to deflate a little. "I can't go with you tonight.  I've..."
"You've what?" Roared the Captain of the guard.
"I've started seeing someone."

Stravitch was taken aback.  "Why would you do that?  The whores are as plentiful as sand here, and you ... go and tie yourself down?  Are you sick?"
"No... she's very nice.  She's from a mining family back in Stukos Matul.  She's one of your guard, sir.  Meng Flickeredvessel."
"...Meng's a girl?"

Varen groaned, and stepped down, shedding the sheets of leather he had been draped in.  "I'm leaving, sir, why don't you find Johnny?  I'm sure he'd love to go."
"I haven't seen him in weeks, he threatens to shoot me if I come near his room," Complained Stravitch.  Varen, sucking up as much courage as he could muster, shouldering past the Captain to get to the doorway.

"Well I can't tonight, sir.  Maybe some other time, but I have a date with Meng."  As he exited the room and vanished from sight, his knees nearly gave out from under him.  He wiped what seemed like a gallon of sweat from his brow, and as soon as his legs stopped shaking he sprinted from the area, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the volatile Captain as he could. 

Inside the leatherworks, Stravitch scowled at Makrond.  The leatherworker smiled, and held up his measuring tape.  "Care to get fitted, esteemed Captain?"
"I don't have time," He growled sullenly, "I have whoring to do."
"Ahh, but you would look splendid in a leather vest, yes?  Maybe a set of leather pants?"
"No.  I told you, I - leather pants, you say?"

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

So whoring is just normal conversation in Migrursut now?
Soon the possession and sale of rat weed will be legal!

[Stravitch]

leather pants, you say?

Only 2 words can describe this.

Pure.  Genius.

[Glacies]

Why the hell is he out hunting, anyway? There's nothing out in the desert except whores and undead camels.

Course', it'd be a bugger to give Likot more minions to push around, and it would be a bugger to manage another squad of marksdwarves.

Oh, how much unused stone do we have? And cut gems, how many of those?

*shuffles papers* *sketches*

[Xofrevlis]

Thanks, I now have the mental image of Stravitch in tight leather pants in my head. 

...Okay, so it's not quite Monday anymore. I ended up finishing my other project on Saturday, procrastinating on Sunday (although if no one is going to call me on it, I could call it research since the game I was distracted by was about zombies. Hah) and finally ...had to fix my other project yesterday. I got to work drawing at around 11 PM PST, but neglected to think about how this drawing is a little more complicated than the previous two...

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm not much for backgrounds, so you'll have to excuse the empty white void for now. But yes, I wasn't kidding when I said I was thinking about Likot, but I decided to run with it and include her new honor guard.

I went to some extra trouble to try to get distinguishing injuries down, Sergeant Pepper was easy enough to find (although there wasn't much information there) but I couldn't for the life of me remember Valania. I'd like to thank Heavy Flak here for sending me that information, you know, on top of writing it in the first place. 

There's some stuff I kinda want to say about the details in this one (since they may not be clear, once again due to my smudginess) but I'm kinda curious what other people remember about their deaths.

Oh, and here's something just kinda silly I doodled while I was thinking.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

...Yes, it is a Likot snuffet. I'm not sure why I made it exist either, but I think I need to work on inking some more.

Oh, and just one last thing, I was thinking of posting the sketches up on my deviant art page, since I haven't updated there in what seems like ages. But, being another person's characters, I'd like to ask permission first. So how about it?

[Glacies]

By Lenod, that Sgt. Pepper gives me nightmares. I just hope I can avoid seeing him in close detail.

[Makrond]

What gives me nightmares is having to fit pants for Stravich...

Also,

"...Meng's a girl?"

Gold. Pure gold.

(By the way, click the link... I played with the code a bit  )

[Heavy Flak]

Wow.  I'm absolutely speechless, Xofrevlis.  Their exactly as I pictured them, in all their terrifying glory.  Fantastic work, as always.  I'd place bets that the cute little snuffet is going to be someone's avatar at some point.

And I appreciate you asking permission.  I don't mind at all if you post them to your deviantart.  I also wouldn't mind if you put a link to this story under a picture or two.   Maybe we could drum up a little more attention to this story with excellent art to go with it, and some more people to donate for Toady. 

Glacies: There are actually, every now and again, REAL camels.  They're so infrequent I don't even notice there was a herd, until Sparrow comes trudging in hauling his kill.  When they're not there... he's just patrolling, and usually bringing down herds of Dread Camels by himself.  He's actually proven nearly unable to be killed.  In that ambush he took a bolt to the leg, shrugged it off, killed the last goblin, and then went back to hunting.  He's got the Dwarven Spirit, that's for sure.

Maggarg:
*Black Screen.  Voiceover*
In a world... where the dead have risen from the very sand.  Where goblins wage constant war against all that is good and just.  Where political intrigue threatens the lives of all, there is one man...

*A shot of Stravitch standing at a top of a cliff, scowling.  The shot cuts away and looks down to a screaming dwarf falling and landing on the stones below, three feet away from a huge pile of corpses.*
"Bugger all.  My aim is off..."

*Voiceover, while quick cuts of Stravitch walking, talking, and crushing things with his mace plays*
who will do nothing to help them. 

*Scene of Stravitch leaning over a table, glaring at distraught Rice.*
Rice: Captain, I have to ask, do you have to use the word "Whore" so much.
Stravitch: I'll stop usin' it, when they stop bein' it.
Rice: But it's offensive!
Stravitch: It's no more offensive than that lout who left half his face on the steps.
Rice: Captain, you left half his face on the steps.
Stravitch: *shrugging* Point is, that's a more immediate concern than some half-dressed tarts...

*Voiceover*
This summer, Stravitch Fillwhip IS Stravitch Fillwhip, Captain of the Guard.  Coming soon to a forum near you

[Jools]

I'm practically wetting myself with laughter here. Stravitch suddenly getting interested in leather trousers, not realising Meng was a girl, and then the Hollywood-style trailer for him... almost worthy of his own show. Brilliant stuff.

(I'm also watching House re-runs and so am highly entertained by egotistical jerks - please don't hit me, Stravitch -stomping round and fixing things their way with little regard for what anyone else wants)

[Stravitch]

I definitely spit water all over my work papers when I read the line

who will do nothing to help them. 

I could hear the movie announcer voice reading all those lines, it was perfect.