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[DS]

He climbs to the top of the stairs, as ready as any a dwarf could possibly be. His steel short sword, Clinchlulled, has claimed the lives over a hundred foes above and below ground.

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His silver eyes have seen decades of horror and grief. Every dwarf he has ever known, save these merchants, are dead. He doesn't really care about anything anymore.

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Commander Èzum reaches the top landing and scans the chamber. Two trolls loomed over the broken body of the merchant mayor, while the two other fools who had followed him this far were separated and running out two different exits - both with trolls on their heels. The old warrior raised his sword and charged the nearest of the beasts with a mighty dwarven battle cry. One slash; two; and suddenly they were upon him. Four trolls surrounded the commander, who - suddenly thrown on the defensive - began blocking and dodging every attack while making none himself.

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They fought him across the chamber, from the western stairwell to the eastern, never actually landing a blow - but forcing the militia commander to retreat backwards. Four trolls, seeming to be hardly a challenge for Èzum Openeddoors the Robust Stoker of Lances, who had killed dozens of demons in single combat, or arrayed against him in numbers.

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He parries a strike and steps backward onto the eastern stairwell. One troll - Song Sinfulpraises - charges the commander. The beast's attack misses, but his momentum carries him forward, crashing into the adamantine-clad warrior and knocking him back through the air.

Èzum flies back a few feet, over the edge of the stairwell and into open space.

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[DS]

He plummets like a stone, five z-levels, into a full layer of magma.

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The commander shakes his head - the fall caused him no injury, it merely stunned him. For a moment, he appears to be fine, suffering no immediate injuries from the heat.

Then, the trolls come in after him.

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The beasts dive into the magma after the dwarf. Trolls are not bright creatures. Their clothing immediately bursts into fire, and they themselves soon follow.

They force the commander back into the corner of the bottom of the stairwell. His leather backpack and waterskin incinerate, and the stairwell is filled with clouds of boiling ale. He still, however, remains unhurt by the heat. Perhaps his complete suit of adamantine armor bestows a limited kind of heat resistance.

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Apparently completely incompetent as well as stupid, the trolls cannot land a single strike on the commander. He parries or dodges the few attacks that come slowly through the thick, painfully hot liquid.

[DS]

As the battle continues, slowly but surely, the commander's extremities begin to show the wearing and building heat that is seeping through his armor. His hands and feet first, but then the entire rest of his body begins to melt and drip with blood. He still, however, has not actually caught on fire.

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The trolls attack relentlessly, even as their own bodies begin to cook and fall apart to the fire. The commander defends ceaselessly, right up to the end.

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Thus ends Èzum Openeddoors the Robust Stoker of Lances, militia commander of the Diamond Cloisters and last surviving member of the Urns of Work. In all his decades of combat, he was never truly defeated, and despite reaching the age of 165, never died of old age. Instead, he perishes here, at the bottom of a stairwell, broiled in his own suit of adamantine armor.

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The trolls who chased him into the magma are incinerated a few seconds later, and the stairwell is choked with smoke. The sounds of the goblin army's bootsteps echo down the hallway, even as the crippled merchant Solon Townclenched, who has now been elected mayor by the three other living dwarves, crawls through the dome to the lever room.

[Cellmonk]

Woah.... battle in the magma while falling. THIS..... IS..... DWARFA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Callista]

Their actions sound perfectly logical to me. After all, if you're the last of a dying species, what are you going to do--just sit there and wait to die? Heck no. Record your history; leave a legacy for the archeologists to find; then grab the nastiest beastie you can find and drag it into the abyss with you when you go.

I mean, isn't that what we're all out to do, anyway, even in real life? Of course, given the existence of entropy, that means we've got to find a way to write our message on the fabric of the multiverse itself, to survive infinite Big Bangs and bubble universes--a sufficiently dwarfy project for anyone, I'm sure!*

*Cosmology discussed in this post is theoretical and not yet proven. Do not attempt this at home. Problem may become irrelevant due to nuclear holocaust, superflu pandemics, and/or really horrible pop music.

[Cellmonk]

*Cosmology discussed in this post is theoretical and not yet proven. Do not attempt this at home.

Hmmm... that makes me itch to find out if through one or more embarks on one save, a message can be left for later gens. I mean, If the dwarves knew how the program runs, and knew EXACTLY when the next gen would occur, could they manipulate the state of the random number generator (by making their world crash earlier or later), defining the moment the next one is automatically genned such that the world of their choice (possibly with a message) is formed?

[Lordraymond]

I find it satifyingly grim that the Commanders last thought before death was most likely "Took joy in slaughter"

Also, it sounded quite Star-Warsy, the whole magma falling thing. I'm just sad to see this artifact thread end...

[Endiqua]

Thus ends Èzum Openeddoors the Robust Stoker of Lances, militia commander of the Diamond Cloisters and last surviving member of the Urns of Work. In all his decades of combat, he was never truly defeated, and despite reaching the age of 165, never died of old age.

Lord knows there are worse endings for a dwarf.  Just ask my populations.   

That was amazing to read.  I was totally surprised and delighted when not only did he survive the initial fall, but the trolls went in after him. 

[zombat]

Toying with trolls whilst rolling around in molten rock, on fire. Now that is what you call a death fit for a dwarf!

[DS]

Also, it sounded quite Star-Warsy, the whole magma falling thing. I'm just sad to see this artifact thread end...

That was amazing to read.  I was totally surprised and delighted when not only did he survive the initial fall, but the trolls went in after him. 

Toying with trolls whilst rolling around in molten rock, on fire. Now that is what you call a death fit for a dwarf!

I didn't see it coming, and when it happened, my reaction was essentially "wat." Were I actually writing the story (as opposed to merely recording it as it happens), I would have never had the commander die by being knocked back into magma - though, I suppose that's the primary charm of the game: that it continuously surprises you, even after playing for years.

Then again, perhaps it is a fitting end. The commander could have never been defeated in combat - some sort of fall into an open space was required. I assumed it would be a dodge into the volcano, or off the bridge, but once again, DF throws a curveball. This is a tragedy, after all.

[keyreper]

THIS IS EPIC

[DS]

As the commander's melted body is finally incinerated by the pool of molten rock at the bottom of the stairwell, the other trolls descend upon the two dwarves who followed mayor Tun to the surface. Alåth Oilycyclone, previously a merchant guard, is caught from behind as she flees down a narrow passage.

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Reg Oiledsacks is slain as the trolls surround her outside, at the edge of the caldera.

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The ill-fated escape attempt is crushed before it can even reach the upper fortress. Three of the six merchants are dead, slain by siege trolls.

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Word of the battle quickly reaches the goblin army as it passes through the fortress' main entrance hall. The small army consisted of no more than 60 goblins and a dozen trolls, and was led by a trio of weapon masters. At their head strides the axe lord Ago Incestrazors, wielding a superior iron battle axe, and leading a squad of swordsmen. Following close at their heels is a squad of spearmen, led by the spearmaster Damsto Pullwitches. Not far behind, leading a squad of hammermen up the bridge, is Kutsmob Controlledseduced, a goblin mace lord.

The news that reaches the captains' ears is unthinkable. Not only were there living dwarves in the fortress, but a new passage had been made clear, which apparently led to a new part of the fortress. The jade-skinned captain Ago Incestrazors rubs his angular chin, peering towards the strangely empty caldera ahead. This new passage must undeniably lead to that refuge where their hated enemy had been hiding all these decades.

After all these years, all those sieges and raids that had swept through Weatherwires, only to find abandoned passages and wealth - but no dwarves - what luck that Ago should be the one who should raid the last mountainhome. Before, he had been just one amongst countless thousands of goblins. Now, he would forever be known as the doom of the Merchant of Echoing, the slayer of the last dwarves.

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Far below, in the dome, mayor Solon Townclenched heeds the last, screamed wishes of the late mayor Tun Dyefight. Surrounded by restless haunts, Solon slowly crawls out of the citadel. For any other dwarf, the lever room would be a short walk through the streets of the dome. For the crippled mayor, the route is anything but short. There is no other dwarf to do it - Goden Mawknife and Onol Plaitorbs are apparently oblivious to their approaching doom.

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And so, Solon, the only dwarf left with a sense of urgency, begins the long crawl to the lever room.

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The dome must be sealed once more, and forever.

[DS]

The goblins pass through the main entrance to the fortress slowly - warily. Perhaps it is the reputation this broad passage has amongst the goblins - countless sieges and ambushes have ended here. There can be no doubt that this was once the heavily trapped corridor that protected the upper fortress of old; one need look no further than the piles of goblin and troll bones that clutter the hall, or the thick layers of blood and vomit that obscure every engraving. They progress with caution - the devilry of the dwarves could never be underestimated.

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Upon crossing through the passage and entering into the fortress, the report of the new passage was confirmed.

With his own eyes, Ago Incestrazors could behold the obsidian structure, apparently rising out of the midst of the volcano itself, and made accessible by a narrow causeway leading from the south. That, Ago knew, was undoubtedly where the stairwell led, that damned stairwell which led down into magma every other time the goblins had searched the fortress. Still, though, the captain suspected some dwarven trick. Two trolls had already been slain - burnt up in battle with one of the dwarven warriors, after they dove into the molten rock after him. The trolls were not too smart, Ago observed.

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Another captain, the spearmaster Damsto Pullwitches, runs ahead of the rest of the army, undoubtedly hungry for glory. His goblin spearmen follow quickly behind. After decades, the way was open, the fat soft underbelly of the dwarven civilization laid bare to his spearpoint - best to strike swiftly, before the opportunity was taken from them once more.

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Solon pulls herself down the avenue from the citadel, through the founder's square and through the passage underneath the red guildhall. There is no time to look up and admire the wonderful architecture that she admired for so long, nor is there time to consider the fate of the old commander.

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Her fingers scrape against the smoothed rock floors of the avenue as she continues, single-mindedly determined in her final task. She had to make it in time.

[DS]

The spearmaster rushes into the engraved passage and pauses, only briefly, at the top of the western stairwell. For decades, magma had filled this space - now, it was made clear, by some dwarven trickery. There was no time to wait. Damsto Pullwitches led his squad down the stairway, the stone still hot from the molten rock which had apparently just receded.

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The avenues are long - long enough for a dwarf who could walk, and staggeringly so for one who could not. Ghosts trailed after Solon, forlorn haunts that watched the dwarf's final effort with incomprehensible sadness. Suddenly, ahead of her, the flat street began to rise. Solon looked up from her hands, which were growing sore with the effort - above her towered the eastern wall of the dome, smoothly sloping away into the darkness high above. Up the ramp just ahead of her was the entrance to the back tunnel, which led to the map room. She lifted herself up and heaved forward.

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At the bottom of the stairwell, Damsto finds the siege trolls hard at work, doing what they did best - destroying things. Each troll had chosen a section of the steel grates and was pulling it up, tearing the grate apart and throwing the pieces into the magma below. Silently hoping that the trolls didn't destroy their only escape route, the spearman crossed the lava-hot room, lit from below by churning magma, and beheld the tiny passage which led out to the causeway. His red eyes narrowed.

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Solon pulled herself past the coffins and spires, towards the entrance to the passage, moving as quickly as she could. If she failed, the myriad treasures of Weatherwires would be vulnerable to the treasure hunters and tomb robbers of the world. She gritted her teeth - the legacy of the Merchant of Echoing would never be plunder for any invader.

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And yet, even as Solon swore in the deeps, captain Damsto and his squad passed across the causeway. Just below their feet, the lava of the open volcano roiled and spat - the heat seeped through their boots from the red-hot steel grates. Ahead, the nether-cap door Syrupsevers - one of the dwarves' artifacts. This was it - this was their legendary refuge. The spearmaster threw the door open and rushed inside.

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The sealed passage is breached - the final safeguard of the dome, compromised.

If Solon is aware of the closeness of the invaders, she makes no sign of it, but simply continues. The next chamber has two exits. The north exit leads to a doomed room, a place of fiery death where artifact furniture burns ceaselessly - a relic of more prosperous, and reckless days. Solon crawls between the coffins towards the southern exit - the passage to the lever room.

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[Endiqua]

   Wow.  I'm on the edge of my seat here! 

Nice writing, DS.  The tone is just perfect.