I really need to donate again, so I can get the continuation to this:
kkkkss~~~c@~~~
The terrible sun baked the cracked earth below as Aliz staggered on.
The caravan left him for dead after a sketetal bear attack. It must
have been an ancient being, from when this dry land was once green and
alive. Now the undead were all that crawled here. One foot in front
of another, that was the only way. The dwarf wrapped a scarf around
his beard to keep out the dust. Ahead was a steep dune.
As Aliz approached the mountain of sand, the tracks of the caravan
disappeared. There was no wind to erase the tracks. No, some evil
was at work here. He went down to inspect the tracks and jerked his
hand back just in time. A cobra! It shouldn’t be here. Nothing
lives in these wastes. He dove out of the way as a dozen scorpions
flew through the air straight at him. This could mean only one thing.
Desert kobolds.
And here's the previous one, which is complete:
"v,"v".v",vvv",.@,.v"vv,v""
Doran floated disembodied above a scene of unimaginable carnage. They
were everywhere, the cave voles, and not a plump helmet remained
unscathed. Bits and pieces of their torn purple flesh lay in the mud
-- no, these voles did not eat everything they killed! It is a dream,
a dream! Doran thought, but he remained in that exact place, fixed in
that posture, branded to the dank air as the massacre continued for
what seemed like an age.
The dwarf awoke in a cold sweat. Casting aside his bedding, he ran
out of his room without putting on his boots. He had to see it -- he
had to see the farm!
~~~~vv,...,,.\@,.
Doran was greeted by a scene of total devastation. Into the mud, his
dwarf-toes sank with his broken heart. The mushrooms were gone --
devoured. Slowly, the dwarf crawled through the muck, unable to come
to terms with his loss. He found himself against the cavern wall, his
hand resting on his dull trowel. He treasured it, but it was as old
as he was, and now it would serve him one last time.
With renewed vigor, Doran stood, facing the barren mud flat with wild
eyes. Cave voles don't travel far and they always nested by water.
Their burrows would be nearby. The trowel's edges might not be keen,
but that wouldn't stop him from bifurcating every last vermin he
ferreted out from their stinking pits. Crazed, the dwarf ran toward
the river bank.
~~~~,%.%@/%%,.V,....
Down the trowel hacked, pressing apart another vole with its blunted
side. Doran ground the tool hard into the moist earth, then slid it
toward him across the mud to break off adhering chunks. Pieces of the
vile pests littered the river bank, and the river itself ran red.
Forty he had slew.
Suddenly his feet felt unsteady as the cave rumbled around him. Up
from the ground tore a giant vole, as large as a cave crocodile. No
doubt it was this demonic creature which had drawn the brood around it
and haunted his dreams with visions of wanton crop slaughter.
Yet Doran felt no fear. This was his time. He held his filthy trowel
out in one hand and with the other he pointed straight at the fiend.
"Your nightmare hours are over, devil-vole! A stab of the trowel for
every mushroom that perished! Even if I die, our blood will nourish
the next crop. You can never stop the harvest."
Man, I really should mod in some cave voles.
Author
Topic: ASCII art rewards! (Read 2805 times)