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[Creamcorn]

I wish to second the request for a 3DDwarf view of this epicness.

It's sorta like the DF version of the Washington Memorial...

Also If someone could build some scaffolding, up to the top and make a giant cobalt mushroom cap arround the top we can pretend it's a giant Dimple Cup.

It's 2000+ Zlevels, that thing is in freaking space! For the record, anything above 20Zlevels is considered tall when choosing an embark site.

This is one of the many reasons to steal a super computer.

[Normandy]

It's like missingno from Pokemon or something. I'm trying to wrap my head around how this might occur, so we might... reproduce such a feat.

[Christes]

The highest level is 6791.  That's insane.  (This was found by placeing objects on shift and , and walking away)

Now we will attempt to collapse the column by mining...

[caknuck]

Seconded. What should we name the page?

The Spine of the World

[MaximumZero]

Seconded. What should we name the page?

The Spine of the World

The Tower of Armok.

[Toast024]

Seconded. What should we name the page?

The Spine of the World

The Tower of Armok.

The Lead of Armok's pencil.

[Dearnen]

I wish to second the request for a 3DDwarf view of this epicness.

It's sorta like the DF version of the Washington Memorial...

Also If someone could build some scaffolding, up to the top and make a giant cobalt mushroom cap arround the top we can pretend it's a giant Dimple Cup.

It's 2000+ Zlevels, that thing is in freaking space! For the record, anything above 20Zlevels is considered tall when choosing an embark site.

This is one of the many reasons to steal a super computer.

I wouldn't say it reaches all the way up to space, but it's well over 20,000 feet tall, nearly 4 miles!  Given that it's so thin compared it it's height, perhaps it's one of Armok's giant adamantine whiskers!  No dwarf in his right mind would ever mine/shave that thing.  Clearly, the answer is to induce some insanity first.  Withhold the booze!

[ECrownofFire]

This is why we need realistic physics in DF. The first thing I would do to that is tip it over.

[Kamudo]

Seconded. What should we name the page?

The Spine of the World

The Tower of Armok.

The Lead of Armok's pencil.

The Promised land.

Or

Adamantium Bug

Heh. I don't know.

[Toast024]

This is why we need realistic physics in DF. The first thing I would do to that is tip it over.

Adamentine is a rather light material.

[cbpye]

"The Siren Spire of Adamant Awe"

Year after year, the dwarves of [CIVILIZATION] send an expedition out into the world in order to ascertain the fate of last year's expedition.  It has long-since been forgotten exactly when this series of fruitless expeditions started, but the dwarves are a sort that demand an answer.

It happens year after year, when they head northeast to the ominous shrubland that has been known only in name: "The Hill of Spit."  The hill lies beyond a ruined elven settlement, a stone's throw away from a brook that has come to be known as "Troublemysteries."  By the time they arrive, it is already to late.

They embark year after year, and there they stand, awe-struck with their implements of dwarven duty left undisturbed at their feet.  All about them are the decrepit wagons and bleached bones of those who heralded their grim arrival -- barrels filled with rot and worm, picks covered in rust and dust.  There they stand with their eyes open wide and jaws agape, and they stare upward into the dome of the heavens.  What they see is beyond the ken of mortal beard.  It reaches from the ground higher than any bird has flown; higher than any cloud has drifted; higher than any man, dwarf, best or monster has ever or will ever ascend, twisting and writhing upward in ways that can only transfix the gaze of unwary observers in their fundamentally impossible geometries -- a spiraling needle of pure adamantine, ascending beyond the vanishing-point into the sky.

They stand there, motionless and breathless, and wait only for time to wear them down into the dust of the earth from whence they came, leaving that siren spire standing amidst a graveyard of wagons and barrels to call more of their bearded kind to an emaciated doom.

Another year, another expedition unheard of, another question unanswered, another expedition prepared.

[Creamcorn]

Seconded. What should we name the page?

The Spine of the World

The Tower of Armok.

The Lead of Armok's pencil.

The Promised land.

Or

Adamantium Bug

Heh. I don't know.

The lash of Armok's lash

The Whisker shaving's of Armok's whisker shaving

Toady's answer to the space elevator

A BIG EFFING TOWER OF ADAMANTIUM THE LIKES OF WHICH WILL PROBABLY NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN FOR ANOTHER HUNDRED MILLION DWARF YEARS!?

[Agamemnon]

This is why we need realistic physics in DF. The first thing I would do to that is tip it over.

Adamentine is a rather light material.

As long as it is heavier than air, it will fall. Unfortunately it will only fall down, not tip over. Wouldn't it be awesome to crush a forest retreat under such a thing?

[Kamudo]

"The Siren Spire of Adamant Awe"

Year after year, the dwarves of [CIVILIZATION] send an expedition out into the world in order to ascertain the fate of last month's expedition.  It has long-since been forgotten exactly when this series of fruitless expeditions started, but the dwarves are a sort that demand an answer.

It happens year after year, when they head northeast to the ominous shrubland that has been known only in name: "The Hill of Spit."  The hill lies beyond a ruined elven settlement, a stone's throw away from a brook that has come to be known as "Troublemysteries."  By the time they arrive, it is already to late.

They embark year after year, and there they stand, awe-struck with their implements of dwarven duty left undisturbed at their feet.  All about them are the decrepit wagons and bleached bones of those who heralded their grim arrival -- barrels filled with rot and worm, picks covered in rust and dust.  There they stand with their eyes open wide and jaws agape, and they stare upward into the dome of the heavens.  What they see is beyond the ken of mortal beard.  It reaches from the ground higher than any bird has flown; higher than any cloud has drifted; higher than any man, dwarf, best or monster has ever or will ever ascend, twisting and writhing upward in ways that can only transfix the gaze of unwary observers in their fundamentally impossible geometries -- a spiraling needle of pure adamantine, ascending beyond the vanishing-point into the sky.

They stand there, motionless and breathless, and wait only for time to wear them down into the dust of the earth from whence they came, leaving that siren spire standing amidst a graveyard of wagons and barrels to call more of their bearded kind to an emaciated doom.

Another year, another expedition unheard of, another question unanswered, another expedition prepared.

This.

[ECrownofFire]

"The Siren Spire of Adamant Awe"

Year after year, the dwarves of [CIVILIZATION] send an expedition out into the world in order to ascertain the fate of last month's expedition.  It has long-since been forgotten exactly when this series of fruitless expeditions started, but the dwarves are a sort that demand an answer.

It happens year after year, when they head northeast to the ominous shrubland that has been known only in name: "The Hill of Spit."  The hill lies beyond a ruined elven settlement, a stone's throw away from a brook that has come to be known as "Troublemysteries."  By the time they arrive, it is already to late.

They embark year after year, and there they stand, awe-struck with their implements of dwarven duty left undisturbed at their feet.  All about them are the decrepit wagons and bleached bones of those who heralded their grim arrival -- barrels filled with rot and worm, picks covered in rust and dust.  There they stand with their eyes open wide and jaws agape, and they stare upward into the dome of the heavens.  What they see is beyond the ken of mortal beard.  It reaches from the ground higher than any bird has flown; higher than any cloud has drifted; higher than any man, dwarf, best or monster has ever or will ever ascend, twisting and writhing upward in ways that can only transfix the gaze of unwary observers in their fundamentally impossible geometries -- a spiraling needle of pure adamantine, ascending beyond the vanishing-point into the sky.

They stand there, motionless and breathless, and wait only for time to wear them down into the dust of the earth from whence they came, leaving that siren spire standing amidst a graveyard of wagons and barrels to call more of their bearded kind to an emaciated doom.

Another year, another expedition unheard of, another question unanswered, another expedition prepared.

This.

This again.