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Nothing.

At all.

Seriously.

[Vilien]

The goblin scum have artillery? We'll have to one-up them using our dwarven ingenuity!

Vilien withdraws from society...

[CJ1145]

Hmm... I don't know if it'd be fair to add a second character, but I'm dying to give Oldbeard another old Dwarf to discuss the old days with. (Too much old in that last sentence.)

[Heron TSG]

I vote that the dwarves throw a crossbreed of lungfish and carp at the goblins.

WHERE'S YOUR DAMN CANNON NOW!?

[Jackrabbit]

I apologize that this won't happen all that often. I was struck by some inspiration and decided to write this. Don't expect one for your character-again, sorry-but when I get into a mood like this, I have to write. Its almost like a fell mood except what I produce isn't covered in spikes and worth millions (I wish. A story covered in spikes would be awesome). Also sorry for the lack of pictures but I wanted to bang this one out quickly (thats what he said). I suppose I could add pictures at a later date. Working on the next portion of the main story, hope you'll think its suitably epic. Anyway.

The King’s Woods

Forrest BeardTree was out hunting again. It was technically illegal but the military was exempt in an unwritten law, as long as they didn’t kill too much quarry and when his company camped here, he couldn’t resist. He could almost smell the deer on the wind blowing towards him. He could certainly pick up his trail, not matter how faint it was. One bonus of being raised by elves was you learned about the ways of the land and better yet, sunlight had no affect on him, at all. It was a blessing, really, being raised by elves, not that he’d ever admit it. When he was finally old enough to leave, he went to reintegrate into dwarven society and was welcomed back as a hero, for surviving the elves. When they learned that he was raised by elves… Well, then he was shunned. Joining the military seemed to be the thing to do, as while he couldn’t stand killing nature’s beautiful creature- at the time, anyway, Forrest chuckled to himself- but he had no problem with goblins.
That was eleven years ago when the war- more of a brutal slaughter really- had pretty much ended and he had only just passed training. The only reason he had been kept on was because he was an utterly indwarven shot, with a crossbow as well as a bow. In the decade after, he was reassigned to peacekeeping, patrols, guard posts, Gods-awful boring crap like that, every day he thanked Armok for this war. He did occasionally crack a few heads back then, but never with a bolt. So, to keep himself sane, he took up hunting. Well, to say he ‘took it up’ isn’t really true. It took him up. He had finally worked himself up enough to try some roast hoary marmot, the first bite of meat in his life, that he could remember anyway. The shock had almost killed him but by the Gods it was beautiful, almost ecstasy and from that moment on, he was a dwarfs dwarf. He decided that if animals killed animals, he could damn sure kill a few too and went hunting the very next day. His elven trained instincts were supremely helpful, allowing him to track and catch his quarry with more ease than most greenhorn hunters. He still screwed up his first hunt, missing the deer completely when he excitably pulled the trigger on his crossbow too hard and shot into a tree. He had never been so stupid before but the adrenaline had been astonishing. The very next day, he hit a deer right between the eyes and had carried his kill back with pride, roasting it and feasting on it with the rest of the outpost guards.
And here he was, nine years later, possibly the best hunter in the known world. He looked out from behind the bushes, making no sound. There she was, a beautiful example of a deer. He raised his bow and- the deer raised her head and bolted. Hell. What had happened? He hadn’t made a sound, he was sure of it, and being elven trained made you really sure of yourself in this area. What had startled the deer? Its hooves made it difficult to hear but… Ah. There it was. That rustling sound, from across the clearing. If it was Humaan, Forrest swore he would kick him in the balls when they got back to camp. But no… this wasn’t a dwarf. Could it be? It was. A drunk goblin staggered forward. What the hell was this piece of shit doing so far behind the lines? And drunk too. That might explain it. Forrest’s grip tightened around the trigger but he restrained himself. No, he could think of a better idea. He melted back into the woods and circled around.

Grishnak was lost. He was also drunk, but this was a common state for him, especially since the war started and they started the booze raids. Well, he started the booze raids. It wasn’t actually an official military tactic really, just him and a few friends getting together and raiding some dwarven booze stockpiles. The dwarves had eventually caught on and Grishnak the befriended, glorious hero to alcohol loving goblins everywhere, was now Grishnak the friendless, drunk and lost behind enemy line. Where the hell was he? Why was everything so bright and loud? It was giving him a headache and that was something he didn’t need. What he really needed was another drink. And that dwarf to go away. Wait, that dwarf?
CLONK
Grishnak dropped like a stone. Forrest stood over him, grinning. He pulled some rope out of his backpack, tied the unconscious goblin up and dragged him off. That was too easy. He had even shown himself, just for the priceless reaction on the goblins face. His steel crossbow still worked like a charm too. Wait till Humaan saw this, even he could respect it, no matter how much he disliked ranged weapons. Forrest smiled broadly, as he often did at the end of a successful hunt. He loved his job.

[Vilien]

Does this story end with torture? If it doesn't, I will be sorely disappointed.

[Jackrabbit]

No, this is just an intro for Forrest and Humaan. Also, I can reveal that thing from a few updates back that nobody could guess if you want

[Vilien]

Yes.

[Jackrabbit]

Yea, it was from Band of Brothers, the mini-series. I can't believe nobody got that.

[Jackrabbit]

Ha! I bet you thought this was gonna be all action but it's NOT! I've blindsided you with political intrigue! WHAT NOW?

The mountainhomes

The dwarf looked up and down the busy, cat filled corridor, before scuttling through a locked door down a side passage. He came to an intersection and went left, came to another and went right. This continued for some minutes, designed to baffle any would be pursuers. Eventually he reached a door. He walked up to it and felt the pressure plate move under him. He could feel himself being scrutinized by the person on the other side of the door. He heard a clicking noise.
“Come on in”


(They're old shafts from the beginning of the mountainhome, for ore. The ore was actually on the other side of the mountain. EMBARRASSING)

He walked through the now open door, passed the dwarf sitting on the chair, wielding a crossbow and smoking on a pipe. He nodded to him and opened the trap door at the far end of the small room. Opening it, he descended down the staircase into a poorly lit room. In the centre, there was the vague outline of the table. Around the table, he could sense rather than see the figures in positions around the table. One spoke.
“You’re late.”
“There was a pileup in the corridor. Several dozen cats.” He replied. He was rather scared of the figures.
“Very well. You have a report?” Damn this dwarf! He managed to stammer out a reply.
“I managed to intercept a written message from the spymaster. I made a copy.” And it was an important message too.
“You made a copy? Why not take the original?” asked one, already aware of the answer, the dwarf was sure.
“Sir, it was of great importance to the military. Removing this message would kill many dwarves needlessly.” And he knew, the dwarf knew he knew.
“Well” one said “show me.” The dwarf handed him the message. There was a few seconds as the figure looked it over, though how he could read in this lighting the dwarf had no idea. After a minute, there was movement.
“This is worrying. You may not be aware, but two companies departed yesterday. There is no way to get this information to them on time. But well done. You may go. Collect your payment on the way out.” The dwarf nodded, pleased to be gone, and bowed his way out of the room. He didn’t know why, it just seemed the most appropriate thing to do. Once he was gone, the figures looked up at each other.
One said “That is bad. Dwarves are going to die.”
One said “Yes, but it is a war. People die. It would have been nice if we could have avoided it, but we cannot.”
One said “Yes. Regardless, we are not here for that. On to more important matters. Are we committed to this goal?”
All mumbled agreement. Some projected an air of unease but all seemed ready. It was time.
One said “brothers, the king is a fool. He is unable and unwilling to deal with this war, preferring to force the task on others. He is dictatorial and oppressive, taking from the working class without restraint. Was it not better when we worked together? For the betterment of our race? Is that not what dwarves do? Why then does this king see fit to ‘rule’ us? He must die.”
The others had heard this all before and all agreed. There was only one question.
“How?” one asked “how can we kill him? This is not just some jumped up noble from the south, people will take interest if he murdered. It must look like an accident. The king may abhor food testers but poison would reek of foul play”
One said “We have found a way. Observe” the silhouette tossed a plump helmet mushroom slice into the middle of the table.
One said, scathingly “is he allergic to the stuff then?”
One said “No. But he can still choke on it”
One said, angrily “But that wouldn’t kill him! It would be too easy to prevent, especially with guards!”
One said, coldly “look, then and your questions will be answered.” With that, he spat onto the mushroom. The figures waited for several seconds before one said
“Is that all it-” he was cut off as before his eyes the mushroom expanded rapidly and enormously. Within seconds it was at least fifteen times the size of a bit sized piece.
One said “exactly the amount of time it takes someone to swallow. By the time this is over his windpipe, it will be enormous.”
One said, shocked “that is amazing! But… the mushroom is spongy. Not hard.”
One said “yes! It is big enough to totally cut off his air supply and soft enough that it will not pop out when it grows. It would be akin to choking on a sponge. And it gets better. Watch.” A few seconds later, the mushroom shrunk back to normal size. The silhouettes were impressed. Rarely did magic of this magnitude grace their presence.
One said “it’s foolproof!”
One said “when?”
One said “Tonight.”

The royal dining room


(Yes, goblin prisoners. Not, there is no Geneva convention in this particular fantasy world)

The king was reading Gaust’s letter aloud to all in the dining room.
“…several already in use, in the field” he finished, looking up at the diners, all of whose faces were drawn and grave.
“How can we combat this?” cried the lone elf at the table, Prince Fern Gladewater, ambassador to the king’s court “Elves have no offensive magic of this magnitude! We cannot combat the power of demons!” He seemed close to panic
“Please, my lord, calm yourself” chided General Cog, who had arrived a few days ago for rest and recuperation, a benefit of commanding the Kings army. He seemed worried as well. “There is nothing dwarven ingenuity can’t overcome. Last week, the alchemists division of the war effort discovered something called ‘black powder’”
“What does it do?” asked the Prince, hopeful
“Smells terrible” replied Cog “however, when lit on fire, it smells rather like pine wood. Amazing”
“Yes” replied the elf tersely “but it doesn’t help us.”
“No” admitted Cog “that it doesn’t.”
The king shook his head and raised a piece of roast plump helmet to his mouth. Several people around the table grinned internally. The king opened his mouth, moved the fo-
“My lord!” screamed the suddenly frantic elf “please, do not!” The king had already placed it in his mouth and swallowed. He looked at the elf quizzically before sitting bolt upright and turning bright red. He started to claw at his throat. Before anyone could react, the elf bounded over to the king, placed his hands on his throat and began to chant. After a few seconds, the king began choking and spat out a shrivelled piece of plump helmet. He collapsed onto his plate and passed out as activity exploded around him.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Oldbeard: An assassination? No-ones tried to assassinate the king since the reign of old Copopaelinji the first and only. He was so hated that after his death they publicly proclaimed him to be a short elf! Of course he wouldn'tve chocked back in my day. Oh, no. Our kings, even the stupid, ugly, elfy ones were much tougher. It took a herd of elephants, half the army and a new-fangled device known as a "balista" (which incidentally, is one of the FEW improvements from the good old days) to take the bugger down.

[Jackrabbit]

OldBeard is actually part of the expedition sent to clear the way for the mining party. So he wouldn't know. But we can just assume he had telekinesis and won't tell anybody because he doesn't think he'll be taken seriously.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Or that he has a pre-written series of responses to everything.

[Jackrabbit]

That is true.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Just how old is Oldbeard? seeing as he was probably in his prime back when DF was 2d he must be pretty old.

[Jackrabbit]

It's better to keep you guessing.