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[Dame de la Licorne]

13th Limestone, 217
The dwarves came back, bringing steel!  Well, steel equipment, not steel bars, but it's better than the iron anvils the humans keep bringing.  I traded as much goblin silk as they could carry for the steel equipment.  We can never have too much armor and weapons.  I also noticed, just before they left, that they had brought spider silk thread!  I bought them out of that as well, and I hope they'll bring more.  It is time we started dressing in a way that reflects our new way of life, rather than wearing the same ratty, tatty clothes that reveal more than they cover.  I, for one, am tired of it!

[Dame de la Licorne]

19th Limestone, 217
While the dwarven traders were enjoying Scarbasement's hospitality, goblins attacked Duchess Nukem, as she happened to be on duty at the time.  Durien was sitting back, passing time with the traders and lunged for his axe as soon as he realized what was happening.  But by the time he reached the gate, one of the visiting hammerdwarfs was already helping her out, guarding her back. 
"I kin deal wi' these vermin!  Yer don' need ter he'p!"
"'N' if'n I wan' ter help?"  The hammerdwarf responded sending a goblin flying.
"It's our for', 'n' my job!"
"Touchy, touchy!"  But the hammerdwarf kept right on fighting, throwing a knowing grin at Duchess Nukem every so often.  With a growl, Duchess Nukem charged the remaining goblins, eager to get away from her unwanted helper.  Just before she reached the first of the bowgoblins, she heard a piteous little mew and saw a kitten fall to the ground, blood pumping from the hole made by an arrow.  In quick succession, two more kittens were felled, and she suddenly heard a roar from gate, one that was quickly becoming familiar.
"I HAD PLANS FER THOSE KITT'NS!"
And the next instant, Durien shot past her and slammed into the first of the bowgoblins, slashing and cutting with his axe as if possessed, spraying blood and bloodied goblin chunks everywhere as the goblins seemed to explode from the contact.  The surviving goblins, seeing the carnage, dropped their weapons and ran, followed by the dwarves.  Two of the goblins managed to escape, and on the battlefield were left only the dead and the bloody.
Durien snorted as he moved back towards the gate.  "Moar mess ter clear up.  Good thing th' trader's're here, I guess.  We can get rid o' it quickly enough."  Coming across one of the kitten bodies, he stood looking down at it for a few moments, before sighing.  "'N' it'll be even longer 'fore I can haf my +kitten leather suit+.  Drat those goblins!"

Later
Both residents and visitors raised a toast to the fighters who had carried the day; the mercenary Athel, Duchess Nukem, and Durien.  Athel jumped up on a table and raised his hands for silence.  "Good friends 'n' companions!"  He began.  "Today marks a won'erful beginning fer a buddin' warrior, 'n' in th' custom o' Kabcatten she's earned a title, th' firs' o' many, I'm sure!  From this day onward, she will be called 'Duchess Nukem, Tapercastles th' Sunken Sun o' Fungus'!"  A blank silence met his announcement, but Athel didn't seem to notice, raising his wine mug toward Duchess Nukem and drinking deeply of the sweet brew.

[Plank of Wood]

Sunken Sun of Fungus?

xD

[Dame de la Licorne]

I kid you not:

[Dame de la Licorne]

Sorry guys, I haven't had a chance to play lately so no updates.  Also, this thing is on hold for the next few weeks as I have to study for my qualifying exams.  I should be back around the end of the month with another update.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

We understand... and the best of luck to you!

Don't forget to come back and write... or I won't have fun stuff to read.

Seriously though, I've enjoyed reading your work and rock those Qual's.

[Dame de la Licorne]

22nd Sandstone, 217
Duchess Nukem's log

The first several lines contain a recounting of Duchess Nukem's latest goblin triumph, but midway down the page the reader notices these words which were written with such force that they nearly ripped the vellum on which they are inscribed:

The blasted thrice-benighted @#&^%$ of a dwarf keeps followin' me around!  I wa'n't sure what ter think when he gave me that title (talk about stupid), the Sunken Sun of Fungus, indeed!  I mean, I'm a fine sample of dwarven-hood, and I do like having my exploits recognized, but a fungus?!  Was that dwarf a bit too sober or somethin'? I'm so very tired of plump helmets, 'n' he had ter go'n remind me of 'em permanently!  Gargh!  An' fer the last several days everywhere I am, he shows up!  He's been beggin' me ter be his wife, his love, his everything, it sounds almost like...poetry.  Urgh.  Like I could ever fall for a wannabe elf like him.  It's so hard to avoid him, he manages to find me even when I'm out on patrol.  Thank Volal Graveltaxes (patron of wealth and jewels) that the caravan will leave tomorrow, takin' that bluidy Athel with it!  Things can finally get back ter normal 'round here!

The corresponding entry in the main log maintained by Durien contains these lines:

Duchess Nukem barged into my office again this morning, and as I had just come from my final meeting with the traders, I was able to assure her that they planned to depart in the morning, and the hammerdwarf Athel with it.  His contract with the traders will be ended next year, but I will not tell Duchess Nukem that he voiced more than a passing interest in joining our small group.  It may come to nothing, after all.

[Dame de la Licorne]

27th Sandstone, 217
Kib and Kivish have announced the birth of their newest child, a girl whom they have named Ingish, which roughly translates to "bodice".  I suppose that with thirteen children they are beginning to run out of ideas.

[Dame de la Licorne]

15th Timer, 217
Litast began to behave rather strangely this afternoon, just as the sun was beginning its descent in the western sky.  He grabbed two iron bars, of which fortunately we have plenty, and locked himself in his forge.  At least whatever he makes is bound to be more useful than that earring and mug cluttering up our storage.

[Dame de la Licorne]

19th Timber, 217
Being shut in an office all day is boring, Durien thought, staring morosely at the wall opposite his desk.  Glancing back down at the pile of vellum littering the table in front of him, he shifted through the sheets aimlessly, pausing when he noticed one he didn't recall.  Examining the design on it, and the note attached, he shot to his feet and hurried out of his office in search of Ast.
However, once down on the workshop level he found the masonry empty.  After a short moment's consideration, he headed to the brewery.  After all, Ast did love her tuber beer, and Logem would always make a batch just for her.  But at the brewery no one recalled seeing Ast at all that day.
"Try th' walls."  Arnmod suggested as he was heading out on patrol.
"No!  She coul' be a' th' farms!"  Kivish insisted.
"Try 'er room, she migh' be takin' a break."  Libash retaliated.
The suggestions kept coming, each one more unlikely than the last, until Durien grumpily decided that they weren't going to be any help at all.
Just as he was about to leave, a large barrel moved into the room, barely clasped by two brawny arms and completely hiding the dwarf carrying it.  With a grunt Logem hove the barrel into place, ready for the thirsty dwarves.  Rubbing the sweat off his face with the rag tying up his beard, he turned to face Durien.  "Wha's all th' fuss 'bou'?"
"I'm lookin' fer Ast.  No one seems to've seen 'er lately."
"Ast hmm?"  Logem scrunched his face and began stroking his beard as he thought.  "She said sumthin' 'bou' buildin'...sumthin'...below.  Sumthin' 'bou' one o' th' temples, I think."
Durien clapped him on the shoulder.  "Jus' wha' I needed ter know!"  And he bustled off towards the main stairway to check out the temples.

Two levels lower, as he was passing the metalworking area, he was startled to hear sudden cries, sounding almost like a dwarf in the throes of death.  Concerned, and remembering that Litast had been holed up here for the last four days, he trotted toward the forge, following the source of the cries.  The sight that met his astounded gaze was almost...undwarf-like.  Litast was bounding and capering about the forge, heedless of the magma sputtering and bubbling just fingerlengths from is feet.  Above his head Litast was holding...an iron pick.
"Litast?"  Durien asked.  "'re yer...feelin' alrigh'?"
Litast did one last spin to face Durien.  "This is th' bes' day o' my life!  Look!  Look!  Isn' it a masterpiece?  A work of art?  Look at th' studs on th' head!  'n' th' spikes on th' handguard!  Perfect!  Jus' perfect!"
Wryly Durien commented, "I'd get a better look if'n yer stopped wavin' it 'roun' all th' time.  Does't haf a name?"
"Organspreads!  Isn' it jus' perfect?"  Litast allowed Durien to take a closer look at the weapon, and Durien conceded that it was indeed a fine creation.  "I made it fer my wife, Ablel.  She's been complaining tha' hers is worthless."
"A fine gif' indeed."  Durien approved, "I value't at close ter 36,000*, 'n' I'm sure Ablel'll love't.  Th' workmanship's exquisite.  I'll surely mention it'n terday's log entry.  Both it 'n' yer'll be known far 'n' wide, if'n I'm no' wrong."
Litast grinned.  "Organspreads, the Iron Pick.  Make sure yer git th' name righ'!"
Durien nodded.  "Of course, of course!  But I need ter git down ter th' temples, have a word wif Ast."
"I'll walk wif yer, Ablel's usually down there too."
And the two dwarves proceeded down the staircase, Litast still singing the praises of his iron pick.

[Dame de la Licorne]

25th Moonstone, 217
The goblin menace is nothing if not persistent.  Another group of raiders attacked us this evening, but fortunately both Arnmod and Duchess Nukem were loitering near the gate.  Duchess Nukem apparently has eyes as keen as a giant eagle's, since she spotted the invaders first.  Her report states that she noticed "sumthin' odd" at the base of one of the nearly-completed windmills and she promptly went to investigate it.  She is shaping up to be quite as good a fighter as her brother, fortunately for us.  Arnmod reports that only one of the goblins managed to escape, and only because it turned tail and ran as soon as it saw our brave fighters, the coward.  In the course of the slaughter, a goblin got knocked down one of the windmill shafts, and died instantly.  I arrived on the scene just as Arnmod and Duchess Nukem were hammering the last of the would-be invaders to death.  I've made a note to get the prison sector completed as quickly as possible, somehow I don't think any law-breakers (however minor the offense) would survive a beating by our Sheriff.

[Dame de la Licorne]

Midwinter, 217
Somewhere in the wilderness

A lone goblin stumbled into the camp, barely able to stand up from exhaustion.  At once he was surrounded by others, all clamoring for news.  "'re th' dwarfys daid?  Kin we git th' traishu'es?  Oy oy!  Wai's talkin' ter ya!"
"Wai...all...daid..." the lone survivor of the most recent raid managed to gasp out before losing consciousness.  The words struck silence into the nearby goblins, as they looked at each other in confusion.  No one had yet stood up to Tuxumstozu, and yet it seemed that they had finally met their match in this stubborn group of dwarves.  One of the goblins, somewhat more scarred than the others, finally commanded, "Ta'e 'im ter th' laider.  'e'll kner whit ter der."
Seemingly relieved to have something to do, two of the goblins grabbed the unconscious goblin and headed toward the makeshift shelter in the middle of the encampment.

Several hours later
The goblin leader made his way slowly to the bonfire, around which the goblins and brainwashed under his command were always gathered.  The lowly and lowliest ones fell silent as he passed, and inwardly he chuckled.  But on the surface he seemed not to notice the growing silence.  Upon reaching the bonfire, he stood gazing into its heart for long minutes, until those surrounding him began to grow restless, and his keen ears picked up the softest of mutterings.  Only then did raise his gaze to meet theirs.
"Wai've a bi' 'f a prublum."  He began.  "Nai un's eva raisiste's us, 'n' nai un's guna star' now!"  He paused a moment to let the agreeing mutterings die down.  "These dwarfys din' kner whit's gud fer 'em, 'n' wai're guna teach 'em."
"Bu' how?"  A voice, slightly higher and reedier than the standard goblin, piped up before being shushed by his neighbors.
"How?  Tha's a gud question."  And only now did the goblin leader smile, a nasty, terrifying smile that looked more like death's caricature of a smile.  Softly he said, "wai're guna call fer 'help.  'n' tha' 'elp'll be so strong, nai un'll ever raisist."  Only those sitting very near him heard the words, but they repeated them to their neighbors, who in turn passed the words on to their neighbors, until the entire camp knew what the leader had said.
The same thin, reedy voice piped up again.  "Bu' who's tha' strong 'n' powufu'?"
The leader's smile extended into a grimace of a grin.  "Th' wors' enemies'f th' dwarfys gaeds."  Now the satisfied mutterings changed to a fearful joy.  Those creatures were minions of their own deity, but they held nearly as much terror for their followers as they did for the dwarves.  The leader held up his hands for one last word.  "Thaes critturs'll taike taime ter call.  Bu' th' dwarfys kin't suspec'!  Moar of Tuxumstozu mus' go'n' figh', while th' crittur's're called."  He slammed his fist into his palm.  "Bu' they will die a death ten, nay, a 'under' taime's worse'n whit each 'n' ever' un'f our folk'f suffered!"
The cheers that met the last statement carried far and wide that night, but not far enough to reach the dwarves sleeping soundly within their halls of stone, happily ignorant of the exact nature of the fate that the goblins planned for them.

[TheMirth]

I love the dialect and accent work. Hats off!

[Dame de la Licorne]

Life has gotten in the way again, so this is on hold for the next week or two.  Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about it.

[Dame de la Licorne]

15th Obsidian, 217
With the arena finally complete, Durien announced the inaugural battle.  The dwarves crowded into the spectator's seats, but with less than thirty of them, the area still seemed rather empty.  Then again, Durien thought, it was planned for a great fort, not our meager hamlet.

Noticing that the dwarves were beginning to get restless, he motioned to Kivish, who had been willing to act as commentator during the proceedings.

Grinning, Kivish stepped to the edge of the arena pit.
"Dwarfs 'n' dwarfettes!  We'cum ter th' bes' enjoymen' 'f dwarfkin'!  Th' Scarbasement Arena'll b' knern far 'n' wide 's th' bes' en'er'nainmen' in th' knern world!  Here, bat'les ter th' deaf, fer honor 'n' glory'll be th' talk 'f th' worl'!  'N' now, ladies 'n' dwarfs, wifou' furtha' ado, I give yer th' great war dog Tokxesmomku Smox Ozad!"

Cheers filled the massive space as Libash pulled the first lever to release the dog.  As if he understood the importance of the event, Tokxesmomku sauntered slowly along the bridge into the central fighting area, tongue dangling out of his mouth, the image of self-confidence.

As the cheers began to die down, Kivish finished his introduction.  "The great Tokxesmomku'll be fightin' ter unarmed gob'ins, a s'erd 'n' lasher by trainin'.  Enjoy!"

Libash released the second lever and the two goblins erupted from their cages to the accompaniment of boos from the watching dwarves.  The noise seemed to whip them into a fury, and they charged the lone dog with a ferociousness they rarely showed on the field.  The lasher reached him first, and managed to wrestle Tokxesmomku to the floor.  In exhange, Tokxesmomku got a hold of the goblins throat and bit down, hard, killing the creature.  But that slight delay had given the swordgoblin time to maneuver.  He ducked around behind the dog and wrapped his own arms around the dog's throat.  The two opponents wove around the fighting dais, more than once teetering on the edge of a plunge into the roiling lava just below.  The dog was expending all his energy twisting, bucking, turning, biting at the goblin.  But the goblin was determined and seemed not to notice the many bite wounds being inflicted on his upper arms.  Eventually Tokxesmomku inevitably began to tire, and the goblin began tightening his hold, collapsing the dog's airway and killing him the same way he had killed the hapless lasher.

The watching dwarves were stunned, remaining silent for a heartbeat, then pandemonium broke out as they all rushed for the doors, screaming that the loose goblin was going to kill them all.  Durien raced to find Libash, to order him to recapture the winner for use in another fight.

"Retake 'im wif wha'?"
Durien blinked.  "Wif th' traps, 'f cour'."
"Wha' traps?"
"Th' ones tha'---"  Abruptly Durien whipped around and darted to his office as quickly as his stocky frame could move.  Heedless of the partial organization, he shoved the piles of parchment and vellum on his desk aside, searching for the arena plans.  Locating them beneath the stockpile records, he spread them out and cursed a moment later.  "Armok damn't!  'ow coul' I be s' stupid!"

Grumbling he went to find Arnmod, and told him to execute the winning goblin.
"Fine, bu' why?"
"Can' retake 'im.  I need ter make some changes ter th' fightin' level layou'.  Add a few cage traps, 'n' some other things."

Shrugging, Arnmod selected a bolt, and headed to the arena.  This's no fun.  It's jus' target practice.  He thought after the deed was done, and headed out on patrol.